Here We Are Nowhere
by Mrs J's Soup
Summary: A tale of marauderly mischief that includes the following: Amateur animagi, death eating, ridiculous teenage reasoning, decent girls and vindictive girls, war, a plotting mother, scones, attempted murder, Quidditch, an annoying little brother, muggle records and tea. Not necessarily in that order.
1. Chapter 1

_**Thanks to Emily for the beta and for lending me your brain while mine was away.**_

_I have shamelessly stolen the title for this story from a song by Stiff Little Fingers._

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The constant rattle of the overhead luggage, the occasional slam of a compartment door and the laughter of happy teenagers were a low-level din aboard the Hogwarts Express, happy sounds that meant home was approaching. The late June sunshine streaming in the carriage window was a pleasant omen to those smiling travellers, predicting lazy days with no homework and no having to get out of bed early. Unfortunately for Sirius Black – Hogwarts student recently completed his fourth year of magical education and currently feigning sleep in a compartment surrounded by his friends – these wholesome sounds were more like the pounding of a death drum, a reminder that he was heading away from everything that was good and toward the cold evil snake pit he called home. Perhaps that was a slight exaggeration, Sirius thought; it was summer, so the house wouldn't be _that _cold.

In fact, the sun was baking hot; he shifted his leg in what he hoped appeared to be a random, sleep induced twitch. If the hideously frivolous summer sun succeeded in scorching a hole in the shin of his school trousers, Sirius would be completely lacking in the untattered-trouser department, and while he would dearly love to give his mother something to shout about that wasn't his posture, hair or generally disappointing character, getting her started the moment he stepped off the train seemed unwise even to him.

"And _then_," James Potter said, continuing his recital on the exciting summer holiday his parents had planned – the recital Sirius was pretending to sleep because of – "we'll be in Poland for a week, I can't wait! Dad says he managed to get tickets for a match there, it'll be brilliant, the Poles are Quidditch mad!"

Peter Pettigrew made a noise of jealousy, saying that he only had chickens, a grouchy goat and the slim possibility of annoying northern cousins to look forward to this summer.

The noise of the lunch trolley approaching put an end to James's description of the Grodzisk Quidditch stadium when he stood up to rummage in his trunk over head for some coins to pay the trolley lady. No sooner had James and Peter left the compartment than the seat next to Sirius dipped, and there was a sharp pain in his side that felt suspiciously like a pointy werewolf finger. This was confirmed as the prod was followed by Remus's voice saying, "You are a terrible fake sleeper."

Sirius opened one eye to look at his friend. "I fooled the others," he grumbled, "so I can't be that bad. You're just nosy."

Remus grinned, "Perhaps. But I've never seen anyone sleep with a frown on their face, it gave the game away."

"Right," Sirius said with a nod, as though contemplating serious advice, "I'll do my best to smile then."

Remus retaliated for the slight mocking with an elbow in the side as he asked, "So is it just the usual, or is there something specific that has you snooze grumpy?"

Sirius couldn't help but grin a little at his friend's oddly-phrased – but astute – observation. He sighed slightly, resigned to the fact that Remus would wheedle his problem out him anyway, and said, "No, just the usual, two months of family shit." He was quiet for a second and then added, "And I just know it's going to get worse - I'm turning seventeen next year, then it won't just be dinner and smiling at wankers, I'll be one of them."

Remus was the only one of his friends that he was willing to admit his dread of the future to; while James was, personality-wise, much more similar to Sirius, when it came to real problems he couldn't really understand, nor did he try to.

James was a rare type; he knew how good he had life, how easy everything was for him. He expected people's respect and top marks in his classes, he assumed that he would get the job he wanted when he left school, and knew that he would win the girl of his dreams (_eventually_). Fortunately he was grateful for all of it, and it was this redeeming factor that made him a decent person. It could have gone the other way completely - James certainly couldn't be called humble, but at least he recognised that his brilliant life had left gaps in his knowledge of the world. He was loyal, and would always listen if Sirius needed to rant about his family but he could never offer advice, because the conversation inevitably ended with him saying '_That's totally shit mate. I wish there was something I could do_.' And of course there wasn't.

"You won't be one of them," Remus said. "Come on, you're not even _six_teen til November; don't worry about that stuff yet." Sirius looked at him suspiciously; this statement from Remus, the biggest worrier on the planet, seemed a little dubious. Remus gave a little laugh and said, "Besides, you already _are_ a wanker to most people, so what are you worried about?"

Sirius snorted and pushed the shorter boy away, "S'alright, you know me, first day is always the worst."

"Do you want anything?" James called through the open compartment door. "Either of you, if he's awake now?" he added, hearing the pair of them laughing.

"Told you I fooled them," Sirius said in an undertone, as Remus called back, "I'm good thanks James." Sirius was a little surprised by this; it was not often Remus would turn down sweets.

The werewolf gave a shrug at the querying look on Sirius's face and said, "My bag is still half full from my hospital hoard; I think it will actually see me through the summer."

James and Peter re-entered the compartment, arms loaded with colourful sweet wrappers. When James plonked back down on Sirius's other side, Sirius leaned over to pinch a Liquorice Wand that was dangling precariously from his friend's grip. James gave him a look and said indignantly, 'I _just_ asked you if you wanted anything,'

"I didn't," Sirius smirked, "but I do want to take yours."

"Git," James mumbled, but allowed the thievery.

The rest of the journey passed quickly, as it always did for Sirius on the way home. Before he had even managed to get into a proper daydream of imaginary arguments with his mother where he was full of never-ending snappy retorts that left her mouth gaping as she struggled to think of a reply, the whistle was sounding and the steam engine began to slow. The mournful sound of excited squeals grew, barely covering the foreboding ruckus of students hoisting their trunks from the luggage racks and streaming out into the corridor. Sirius was momentarily distracted from his inner self-pity by the pretty face of Marlene McKinnon appearing at their compartment window.

Marlene was in Ravenclaw and was just finishing her sixth year b ut despite inter-house rivalry and her being two years ahead of him, Sirius had nursed a soft spot for her ever since she had knocked James out in his first Quidditch match for Gryffindor the previous year. Marlene seemed to be happy all the time - genuinely happy, something that was rare in teenage girls as opposed to the affected giggling of the masses that seemed to swarm up and down the Hogwarts corridors. She slid the door open and grinned at them all before addressing James, "So Potter, have you been roped into this fundraising thing at the Boneses too? End of August I think, in Cheshire."

James looked around at Marlene. "Not sure, we're going to be out of the country until the middle of August. My dad did say we had to be back then though, so maybe." He scrunched his nose. "Lame, I hate those things."

"You and me both," she said. "At least you won't be forced into a dress for the occasion."

James chuckled and said, "Yeah, but _you'll _be able to drink, so it's not all bad."

Marlene gave him a wide smile and said as though this had not occurred to her, "That is an excellent point, Potter!"

"Glad to help," he said.

She grinned once more as the students in the hall started to move, and flicked her short blond hair out of her face as she picked up her trunk by its end handle. "Right, have a good summer you lot," she said with a last cheerful look around the compartment.

Sirius concentrated very hard on willing away the heat in his cheeks as her eyes fell on him. "You too, McKinnon," he said. She nodded brightly before being swept along on the tide of eagerly departing students.

James snickered beside him and nudged his ribs, "You're dreaming, mate," he said in an undertone.

Sirius failed in his attempt to look casually confused. "I don't know what you mean," he said, busying himself with his trunk and keeping his face impassive.

Peter and Remus broke into traitorous giggles behind him. "She is the only girl you are ever polite to, isn't there a reason for that?" Remus asked with a restrained chortle that undermined his innocent tone.

"I just don't want to get hit in the face with her bat! You remember what she did to James." Sirius said haughtily, with a slightly vindictive look in James's direction.

"And yet," James said, apparently pondering thoughtfully rather than accusing, "you will happily tell Dearborn to get bent even though he gave you a black eye for being a smart arse last year?"

"Yeah … well," Sirius muttered pulling his trunk out into the corridor. The others laughed a little louder and Sirius grumbled in resignation, "Shut up."

The cheerful aura cast by McKinnon was enough to keep him smiling as he left the train - she really was a brilliant bird. It was a shame his wasn't the sort of old family that got invited to fundraising events at the Boneses in Cheshire. He had to settle for dreadfully dull dinner parties and the Shafiq girls, whose family proudly boasted its lack of muggle blood; while this endeared them to Sirius's mother, Sirius could only wonder when being part troll became acceptable to purebloods.

His pleasant little imagining - Marlene telling him it didn't matter that she was two years older and from infinity less evil family and snogging him anyway - was rudely interrupted by the cool, clipped voice of Walburga Black carrying to him across the platform.

'Sirius, don't_ dawdle_,' she said. Sirius looked to see her standing impatiently with Regulus, his little brother, already off the train. His mother was wearing her usual uniform of dark, high-necked robes, and silver jewellery glinting at her throat; her black hair was pulled back tightly enough to account for the somewhat uncomfortable look on her face, though Sirius knew that look actually came from the unworthy riffraff she was being forced to share oxygen with or, possibly, it could also be his presence that caused her to grey eyes to narrow and lips to tighten.

Regulus was standing next to her with his shoulders straight and uniform looking smart and rumple-free and not at all like he had just spent five hours slouched on a train seat in it. Sirius had an odd flashing thought of Reg standing poker-stiff all the way from Hogsmeade just to keep his shirt in its freshly pressed condition, but he dismissed it with a shake of his head. Regulus might be a little odd and a total suck-up but he was still a thirteen-year-old boy.

Sirius's little brother had just finished his third year, and was everything his mother had wanted in an heir: easy to mould, good-looking enough, and perfectly Slytherin. Unfortunately for Walburga, Sirius had had the audacity to be born first, Sirius with his never-ending stream of mischief and disrespect, and the nerve to allow himself to be housed in Gryffindor with all its brainless dirty heroes. Sirius knew his mother thought these things, because she liked to remind him regularly how difficult he had made her life. Clearly it was intentional, because _of course_ every little boy wants nothing more than to have his mother hate him. He had arrived at Hogwarts perfectly willing to be sorted into Slytherin with his cousins, but the hat had changed everything; Sirius had gone to Gryffindor, a little excited to be proven different from the rest of the Blacks, even if he had been worried about disappointing his mother. Living with the Gryffindors had changed Sirius. Being surrounded by people who did things for the benefit of others, who you could take at their word, not having to constantly wonder if confiding in someone would come back to bite you, was all so foreign to him, foreign but wonderful. It made him realise that family wasn't everything, that he could rely on his friends to stand with him if the need arose. All his mother's talk of the Black name being the only thing he could trust, and blood being the only true stability left in the changing magical world seemed more and more foolish.

Sirius had basically stopped listening, and while his mother knew that, she had not given up yet, still searching for a way to show Sirius the appeal of being heir, and taking responsibility for the family name and the family goals. He would have to do it whether or not he wanted to, however, if he was unwilling it would be worse for just about everyone. Sirius, obviously, was very determined to never be a willing heir, unless it meant waiting until the whole lot of them were dead, and giving the family fortune to a muggleborn rights organisation. He smirked at the thought and his mother frowned – no smirking! – and then beckoned imperiously to him, looking pointedly at the line for the floo that would take them home. He had dawdled so much in getting off the train – no dawdling! – that the queue was quite short now, so thankfully he would not have to face being scrutinised by his mother in public for long.

"Good afternoon Mrs Black," piped up James's jaunty sing-song voice from beside him, and Sirius winced slightly. Every year, James insisted on a social interlude on the platform. Walburga of course would never be rude to James _Potter_ - regardless of their political views, the Potters were an old family with a decent fortune and pure blood so Walburga would not be outwardly hostile. James found this very amusing, and couldn't help but try and annoy his mother to see how far he could push it, but then, Sirius supposed, that was something he understood quite well.

"Mr Potter," Sirius's mother said with a brisk nod, and James gave her the most ridiculously sycophantic smile Sirius had ever seen.

Sirius resisted rolling his eyes. "See ya James," Sirius said, half-wishing him away, but dreading his best friend's departure because then the school year really would be over.

James nodded politely and said cheerfully, "So nice to see you again," before he clapped Sirius on the shoulder and said, "Have a great summer mate, be sure to write."

As he watched James go, Sirius spied Remus and Peter watching from a distance, half concealed by a pillar; they would never dare to approach the sharp tempered Black matriarch, Peter because he was a little bit of a chicken and Remus because he much preferred being alive.

"Stand up straight," Regulus whispered imploringly before their mother's eyes returned to her two boys. Sirius shot his little brother a withering look but did as he suggested; he was not going to suffer the humiliation of being reprimanded in front of anybody from school.

Walburga dropped the sickles for use of the floo into the attendant's hand and urged her sons forward. Regulus went first, disappearing in the gust of roaring green flames. Sirius followed quickly as not to be alone with his mother for longer than necessary. He tucked his elbows in tightly as the cool emerald blaze surrounded him, and within a matter of disorientating spinning seconds he was tumbling out of the kitchen fireplace in the basement of Number Twelve Grimmauld Place. He got to his feet as fast as possible, and lunged towards the door in the hope of escaping to his bedroom before Walburga appeared.

"Sirius," Regulus said a little warningly, "just wait, she seems in a good mood, do you think you could try to keep it that way? We still have to get through tea, whether you run off now or not." His eyes were pleading and Sirius wondered why Regulus wanted Sirius out of trouble; he didn't normally care that much either way. "Just don't say anything, I'm sure –" but he fell silent because Walburga was now gracefully unfolding herself from the hearth.

Sirius stood straighter, thinking that Regulus was right, his mother did seem to be in a better mood than usual; perhaps if he just managed to keep his mouth shut he could have a pleasant summer. He scoffed inwardly at the idea of anything _pleasant_ occurring inside the ancestral home of The Noble House of Black.

"Kreacher," Walburga said as she placed her handbag on the kitchen table and removed her town gloves.

_CRACK_

"Yes Mistress?" asked the deep croaking voice of the wrinkled house-elf after he popped into existence.

"Tea in the drawing room in fifteen minutes, after you have seen to the luggage. "

" Yes Mistress."

_CRACK_

Returning her attention to her sons Walburga said, "Go and change out of your uniforms, and meet me in the drawing room with your end of year results in a quarter of an hour." She looked Sirius up and down, "And comb and tie your hair back, Sirius. I do not want to look at you in such a state."

Sirius bit back the retort of _the feeling's mutual_ he longed to utter and nodded, then turned on his heel to exit as quickly as he could. He couldn't believe it, there was no arguing yet, this not talking thing was a miracle. Now to get through tea. _It shouldn't be too bad,_ he thought, his marks were all very high this year, so his mother couldn't complain about _that_, and the howlers he'd received in his first two years had been of such disruptive number and volume that Professor McGonagall had stopped informing the Black household when Sirius was caught breaking the rules. Having unsavoury phrases like _Bloodtraitor_ and _Shame of my flesh_ screeched across the Great Hall during breakfast was really no help to anyone, and as McGonagall had learnt, it didn't make Sirius behave any better anyway. One could argue that the extra detentions she set instead didn't inspire improvements either, but the main point was, his mother had no proof that he wasn't a model student.

Sirius was hopeful as he climbed the staircase to his bedroom and shut the door behind him. Perhaps this summer he wouldn't get his owl confiscated, or have his annual visit to Alphard cancelled, or any of the other things that made summer holidays remotely bearable. Maybe he would even be able to go and visit James when he got home, or meet the others in Diagon Alley before next term began. It wasn't like he had to admit to anyone if he behaved himself around his family, he thought, flopping back onto his stiffly made bed. He flung his arms out either side of his body and set about wrinkling up the starched covers in a small act of un-punishable rebellion.

There was a quick little familiar knock on his bedroom door, and Sirius sighed as he sat up, "What, Reg?"

The door was pushed open and his little brother came in. He looked nervous for a moment and then said, "Thanks for not making her angry."

'I didn't do it for you,' Sirius said with a laugh, as he moved from the bed to crouch down and open his trunk. 'Despite the evidence, I don't really like getting shouted at.'

Regulus gave him a little smile, "You like it a bit. But I'm glad anyway, I… um, failed Care of Magical Creatures… I know she'll be so angry with me, I'm just glad she's not already wound up over you."

Sirius felt his eyebrows shoot up in shock. "You _failed_? Regulus! How did that happen? _Magical Creatures? _That's the easiest subject there is, she's going to be furious! Remember when I only got seventy five per cent in Charms in second year? I thought the paper was going to start peeling from the walls, what is she going to do if you actually _failed?"_

"I _know_! That's what I mean, so please be good!" Regulus hung his head and mumbled, "Are your marks high? Do you think it will keep her happy? I mean, it's you that really matters, I'm just the back-up."

Sirius frowned. His brother always did that, brought up that Sirius was more important than him, like it was an excuse for something, not just twisting the knife to remind Sirius that as the 'spare' he would be allowed all the freedom Sirius could only imagine. He dug a pair of jeans from his trunk as he said shortly, "Lowest I got was an eighty nine and that was in Divination. I'm in the clear." Regulus looked relieved, but he didn't leave the room, still staring anxiously as Sirius hauled this school robes over his head and began to change. Sirius hesitated before unbuttoning his uniform trousers, "Er, you right Reg?" but his brother still stood there, twisting his hands, staring vaguely at Sirius and his trunk and the crumpled jeans Sirius had freed from his packing.

"Jeans?" Regulus said eventually. "Please, you know that will get her going."

Sirius gritted his teeth but didn't argue. His brother might be a pain in the arse but he had helped out Sirius quite regularly when he was trapped in his bedroom with no owl or any means of boredom reduction. He went over to the tall wardrobe that sat in the far corner of his bedroom and housed all the clothes Sirius owned but hated and never wore unless forced to by pain of death – or in this case, donned in an act of generous self-sacrifice. He pulled out a pair of grey woollen trousers and eyed them for a moment. Did he really care that much if Reg got in trouble?

It turned out he did, because ten minutes later he was following his nearly-trembling brother down the stairs, having to stop every few moments to jiggle about because he felt like the trousers were going to itch him to death. When they reached the door to the drawing room Regulus stopped and waited for Sirius to pass him; Sirius gave him an impatient look but he didn't budge, just stood there twisting the edge of the scroll of parchment that contained his end of year results and looking terrified.

Sirius huffed, "Merlin Reg, grow a pair," but stepped past and led the way through the door.

Walburga was already present in the long room, sitting in her customary winged armchair; her small silk-covered notebook was resting on the end table alongside the silver service Kreacher was pouring her tea from. This notebook was her written record of her sons' achievements. In it she recorded everything, the expected things like exam results and areas at which they excelled, but Sirius thought that she also she kept records of more private things - who their friends were, their weaknesses – things that she could use in her favour if necessary. One of Walburga's fine eyebrows crooked and her lips pursed as Sirius took a seat on the couch opposite her. He felt the familiar appraising stare run over him but there was nothing to criticize because Sirius had even combed his hair and tied it back as she had asked. His scalp still tingled from when he had wrenched the comb borrowed from Reg through the mess only minutes earlier.

Regulus sat beside Sirius on the couch and seemed to have gained some courage in the face of his fear because he smiled at Walburga and sat quite tall, though Sirius did notice his hands were clasped together rather tightly – an effort to keep them from shaking no doubt.

'Tea, Master Sirius?' Kreacher asked in his bullfrog's voice. Sirius nodded at the elf, still waiting for some kind of disparaging comment from his mother, but it was silent except for the sound of the tea pouring. "And you, master Regulus?"

"Thank you Kreacher," Reg said. His voice was quiet but calm, and Sirius was pleased that his brother wasn't a complete coward.

Walburga took a sip of her tea then held out her many-ringed hand. "Sirius? Your results please." He handed them over, and she said conversationally as she unrolled the parchment, "I'm pleased to have received no communication about your misbehaviour this term. I hope this means that you are taking your place in this family a little more seriously." Sirius couldn't answer that without saying something that would incriminate him, so he stayed silent as she gave a curt nod of approval at the parchment in her hand. "Adequate. The next year is of the utmost importance, Sirius; I expect a repeat of these in your O.W.L. results. You will not shame us any further." She picked up her notebook and quill and began to write, no doubt adding his _adequate _grades to the collection.

Sirius glowered at his knees. She would _expect_ would she? The woman was deranged - the marks he had achieved this year equated to ten O utstanding O.W.L's - but he just nodded jerkily, thinking that at least the news of Regulus's failure would be landing on softened ears.

"And you Regulus, I had a very complimentary message from Professor Slughorn about your potions work. He is very impressed," Walburga said closing her book once more. "I told him that it was only to be expected." She bestowed upon Regulus the look that Sirius called 'Wally's smile', though it was nothing like a true smile, just a slightly fuller bottom lip and an almost indiscernible crinkling at the corner of her left eye. Walburga did, on occasion, smile properly at her second son, but never would such a thing happen while discussing a dire topic like school grades. She held out her hand for the next scroll. Regulus leaned forward to give it to her, with a brief flick of his eyes in Sirius's direction.

Sirius held his breath as his mother's piercing gaze flitted down the parchment, waiting for the explosion, but none came, Walburga just gave another nod at the page in front of her. She looked up at Regulus and said, "Mind you work harder in Care of Magical Creatures next year , your OWLs will be here before you know it, and we wouldn't want a repeat of this would we?"

"No Mother," Regulus said faintly.

"Very well," Walburga said, setting the scroll aside and picking up her tea cup again. "Now, we have guests coming for dinner; you have one hour until you are expected back here to greet them. Please make sure you are dressed appropriately."

Sirius gave another nod, wanting nothing more than to be away from the woman and her double standards. He got to his feet and left Regulus drinking his tea while their mother added to her book and commented on his high Charms result.

As Sirius trudged back up through the house in his scratchy torture trousers he couldn't help the muttered grumblings leaving him. _Why was it him?_ Regulus made such a better heir than he did. Regulus _wanted _to be doted on and adored by all the family, and Sirius wanted nothing more than to disappear. He didn't know why his brain worked differently from the rest of them, why he couldn't agree with them that pure was the only way forward for wizardkind - well, he did know why, it was because it was total rubbish, but he couldn't explain why he thought that and none of the rest of them did. He and Reg had had the same tutors, the same lessons, and the same dreary lecture-filled dinners, and yet Sirius had always questioned what was so bad about muggles. Every muggle he had encountered had been very little different to wizards, just people, and Sirius thought probably smarter people because they didn't force everyone to wear robes every time they left the house. As he twitched his leg in the tormenting trousers, he bet they didn't wear wool in June either. "Clever muggles," he muttered as he climbed the stairs to the third floor.

"Is that you scuffing up the carpet out there, Sirius?" called the voice of his Grandfather Pollux as he passed the library door.

"Yes Grandfather," Sirius said poking his head into the room.

His grandfather was Sirius's least-hated member of the house – well, least-hated after Regulus who Sirius was always very annoyed with but didn't actually hate. Pollux on the other hand wasn't annoying; in fact he was almost nice, if you ignored his financial support of highly questionable, bigoted maniacs and his hatred of anything less than pureblood wizard. He tolerated Sirius and his misdemeanours much more easily than anybody else, though Sirius wasn't sure that he believed the family friends who commented on how alike the two of them were. He also thought that Pollux saw the big picture most of the time, and what he cared about most was a strong family line and that The House of Black continued to be an influencing force after he was gone. He was not particularly bothered that Sirius was in Gryffindor, or that he had unsavoury friends, as long in the end his grandson made the proper decisions: marry a pureblood, provide heirs, and make wise business investments. That was all Sirius _had_ to do, the rest of his life was of no concern to Pollux. But of course it really was no concern, he'd never actually interfere in his domineering daughter's raising of his grandson – that would be too much to hope for.

"My, don't you look smart," he said with a shrewd glint in his eye. "What have you done now?"

"Nothing," Sirius said, pushing the door shut behind him before he sat in the empty chair in front of Pollux's desk. "Regulus advised me that perhaps if I follow instructions we could have a pleasant summer."

"Well, how insightful of him," Pollux said ironically, returning his gaze to his ledger he had been scribbling in previously. "I have never heard of such an unorthodox concept." Sirius nodded even though his grandfather wasn't looking at him. Pollux shut the heavy leather covered book and looked up again, "I wondered if you were already dressed for dinner this evening; your mother has been planning for weeks."

"Oh _no_!" Sirius grimaced; that couldn't be any kind of good. "Really? Who's coming?"

"The Selwyns, and their daughter Cecilia. I think you know her from school?"

"Yes," Sirius said distastefully, thinking of the fifth year Slytherin girl, an 'heir hunter' as James like to call them, girls determined to get themselves married into gold and high social standing. They were all terrifying beasts as far as Sirius was concerned, as he was unfortunately high on their list of desirable prey. "She is vain, vacant and cruel," Sirius elaborated.

"I am assuming that means she is attractive?" Pollux questioned. "She must have some redeeming feature or your mother would not consider her worth the effort, no matter her blood."

"Before she opens her mouth perhaps" Sirius said, not mentioning that vacant and cruel might suit his mother's taste all too well. "Mother's not – " he swallowed, trying to rid his throat of the burning feeling that had sprung up as a horrible thought crossed his mind, "not _match making_ is she?" he forced out, dreading the answer.

Pollux gave him an almost-apologetic look. "I believe that is what she has in mind eventually, although it is only early days, still eighteen months until you can get married. Of course it would be much more seemly if you were finished with school before the duties of husband are added to those of heir."

"Seemly?" Sirius stuttered weakly, "but I'm _fifteen_, I don't –,"

"Sirius. Just humour your mother," Pollux interrupted. "Perhaps if you talk young Cecilia's ear off, she won't be able to get a word in, and you can just enjoy the view?"

Sirius nearly laughed despite his horror. Grandfather Pollux was an odd man. "Where's father?" he asked, suddenly realising that Orion's desk at the far end of the room was unoccupied. Only a towering stack of books and some curiously sinister-looking bronze instruments sat on the surface; it was quite unusual for Orion to leave the library for anything other than meals or sleep, and Sirius wondered if this meant his father's paranoia was decreasing.

"He has gone to pick up a book from Flourish and Blotts." Pollux said slightly disparagingly, "He didn't trust it to be sent by owl; he mentioned something about undesirables controlling the post. I swear one day we are all going to wake up trapped in this house due to your father's latest attempt to keep us 'secure'."

"Right," Sirius said, not wanting to give an opinion on Orion's mistrust of post owls. It really was no wonder that Sirius was a little bit unusual: his Father was obsessed with security, to the point of insanity, and his father's father Arcturus lived in France because he disliked rain, and English people, despite this fact his wife was English and lived in Nearly-always-wet Norfolk. And Pollux had just told him it was okay if a girl is an idiot as long as she is pretty, which might explain a lot in his family tree. Good grief, was there any hope for him at all?

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_**A/N**: __There is much more of this to come, so let me know what you think. xx_


	2. Chapter 2

**_A Recent Pottermore update has made part of this story A/U, so just go with it xx_**

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* * *

Remus woke on the first day of the summer holidays with the wonderful feeling of freedom that comes from knowing you can just roll over and go back to sleep, without any kind of homework-related guilt or fear of privacy violation by bored dorm-mates. He lay there with his eyes closed, preparing to do just that, but he could hear his mother making breakfast in the kitchen down the hall. Neglecting ones parents when you haven't seen them since the previous summer was a bit shameful, it occurred to him, so a guilt-free sleep-in would have to wait till tomorrow. The smell of bacon urged him on as he dragged himself out of bed and out into the world - well, to the bathroom first, then world.

"Good morning sweetheart," his mother said chirpily from the cooker when he entered the kitchen. "You've just missed your father I'm afraid. Are you hungry?" she asked as she loaded a plate with bacon from the frying pan. She looked every bit the homemaker, something Remus found quite humorous; his mother cooked only out of necessity to stop her husband and son living on chips alone. This morning she seemed to have gone to an effort to appear motherly - her thick shoulder-length hair was up in wide rollers as usual for this time of the morning but instead of tailored slacks and a sensible blouse she wearing a floaty multi-coloured floral print dress that hung to her ankles and made Remus think of toe rings and gypsy fairs.

Remus took a seat at the kitchen table. There was a short stack of newspapers (wizarding and muggle) and an empty coffee cup in front of his father's recently vacated chair. He nodded in answer to her question. "Starving," he said, and he was, had been for the last few weeks in fact. "Have you got the day off Mum?" he asked, unable to fathom the light-hearted attire on a weekday morning . Remus's mother was in charge of communications in the town Council office. Perhaps they were having a 'dress like an urchin day,' to raise money for actual urchins, he thought, noticing his mother's bare feet as she continued to assemble his breakfast.

She looked up from cracking eggs into the pan to give him a broad smile. "Yes, I thought it might be nice to spend the day together since you were at school for Easter. Boarding school is hard on mums you know."

"So you keep saying," Remus said, trying to stifle a yawn behind his hand. " Most parents would be glad to have a teenage-free household. Apparently we are smelly and have very short tempers."

His mother gave a little laugh, "Yes, but you see Remus, I _like _my teenager."

And she did. Remus knew his mother went out of her way to remind him of the fact. She constantly told him how clever he was and how proud she was and how much she enjoyed his letters or his company; all the things that most parents only showed in their actions were spoken aloud in the Lupin house. Ruth Lupin was a muggle, and although her husband had explained to her many times that Remus was coping with his affliction very well, Ruth was always worried, always concerned that he was ill, that people would hurt him for what he was, and she went out of her way to make up for whatever nastiness the world threw at him. In part she was right; he was ill most of the time, and it wasn't easy, and if people knew that quiet, innocent Remus Lupin was a werewolf then he really could get hurt.

As much as he had worried about that in his first years of school – that people would notice the pattern, that he would be shunned for what he was and forced to live without an education and therefore a very bleak future – more recently he found himself thinking that it did seem unlikely, if after four years the other pupils didn't notice why would they start now? It was like James and Sirius told him, it was just too bizarre for consideration, no one would look at cardigan-wearing, textbook-carrying, runty Remus and think, 'hmm, he _must_ be a werewolf.' He disliked the term runty, mainly because it put him in mind of a litter of puppies and he – as the runt – would have been drowned, but he knew that wasn't what his friends had in mind when they called him, or Peter for that matter, runty. He reasoned that it was good for his disguise to be little, even if it was a tad shameful to be fifteen and only reach his mum's shoulder. It wasn't his fault that no matter how much food he put in his mouth he just didn't seem to grow, up or out.

Ruth put a plate of bacon and eggs in front of him and sat down with her cup of tea, smiling as he began to devour the food with neat and concise enthusiasm. After a moment she asked, "So, did you want to go out today? It's lovely weather."

Remus swallowed quickly, "Actually Mum, I'd rather stay home, I'm still a bit tired from the moon - is that alright?"

"Of course darling," she said. "Chess, cards or telly?"

Remus grinned. "We have all day, I'm sure we can fit them all in."

His mother beamed, and though most of the time Remus found himself slightly exasperated with her coddling of him, he knew she meant well – and really, what was one day of his holiday holed up with his mum playing cards? It wasn't a day he'd be owling his friends about, but it appeased Remus's guilt to make his mother happy with something as simple as this.

Remus felt it was largely due to himself that both his parents worked so hard, and he knew he and the wolf were the reason that both held muggle jobs. His mother's work at the town council appeared to suit her, doing whatever it was that communications advisors did; to Remus it seemed like a lot of telephoning and being annoyed at incorrectly used apostrophes, which both came naturally. His father on the other hand worked for an orcharding suppliers in Wells, fifteen minutes across the district, and although he was undeniably good at his job, Remus knew it wasn't his first choice career. He spent most of his day travelling around the area, helping the local orchardists with pest removal and increasing fruit production. Mr Lupin was very popular among the locals; he seemed to be able to fix all their problems at once, and he had a way with the trees that was almost like magic.

Although the customers all raved about him, or perhaps because of that, he was never promoted into the office part of the business, but Mr Lupin would never complain. He and his wife might work hard, but it was important to be muggles, a necessary choice to protect their son. After Remus had been attacked by a werewolf - for reasons unknown to Ruth and Lyall at the time - they had made the decision that Mr Lupin would leave his job in London where he had been working for the Muggle Liaison office within the Ministry. They had moved to the small Somerset town of Shepton Mallet and re-started their lives. This was not a huge hardship for Mrs Lupin who was a muggle anyway, all she wanted was for her son to be safe, so if that meant her husband leaving the magical world behind him she was all for it.

Ruth had met Lyall Lupin in the café she worked in after she finished school. She had meant it to be a short-term job earning money until she could begin university, but things worked out differently after the shy smiling chap who came in to buy his lunch every day finally worked up the courage to ask her out. She had accepted, if only because she was worried that if he kept using cream cake purchases as an excuse to see her, his expanding middle would soon prevent him from ever getting a date . Ruth had been expecting dry conversation with what she assumed was a run of the mill office worker, but he had surprised her. Lyall, with his job requiring him to know about muggle culture, was very well-read and from that first lunch onward they had spent every lunch hour sitting together on a bench talking of books, and soon afterward, weekends going to the cinema and enjoying each other's company.

Ruth liked to think of herself as a progressively minded woman. She was going to be reading political science at university, inspired by her mother, who had been an equal pay lobbyist representing women's unions, mostly for the women who had held onto their factory jobs after the war. Unfortunately, no matter how forward thinking you might be, when you fall pregnant at the age of nineteen to a man you have known for three months, the wisest thing to do is accept his marriage proposal, because the rest of the world will not give you the chance to prove yourself in academics with a baby on your hip and a bare ring finger.

As the months went by, Ruth felt lucky that Lupin was the sort of fellow she would have wanted to marry anyway, still encouraging her to pursue her education, but with a swelling belly she was no longer the type of student the university was looking for. It hadn't been until Ruth was halfway through her pregnancy that Lupin had worked up the courage to tell her the truth about himself, that there were thousands of wizards just like him living in secret all over Britain. Obviously this news had come as quite a shock to his fiancée, but as she constantly preached acceptance of all peoples, skin colour or religion or gender, she supposed that it would be a touch hypocritical to leave him for being a wizard.

They had lived very happily together in a small flat in London until the full moon had changed everything. Ruth had, of course, been aware of the unrest in the wizarding community - she found their politics as interesting as muggle ones - but what she and her husband had not known was the drive to separate couples such as themselves, couples who flaunted their intermarriage and interbreeding. Their punishment for the crime of tolerance and falling in love was to have their perfect son savaged by a werewolf. It wasn't until six months after the attack that they discovered there was a reason behind it: in the eyes of this new purity movement their marriage was an abomination. Add to that Mr Lupin's well-known support of muggle rights and his constant assistance of muggles through his work at the Ministry, and the small family became the epitome of everything the extremists hated. Fortunately for little Remus, his mother had not been frightened off after her son became a dark creature; to her he would always just be Remus. Even more impressively, Remus thought, was his father, who overcame a lifetime of accepted prejudices to proudly put his family first .

All in all, Remus tried not to feel guilty for the life his parents led; though he knew they had been forced into many of their choices on his account, his mother constantly reminded him that no matter how bad it seemed sometimes, they had a roof over their heads, food in their bellies and most importantly many good books to read. Remus couldn't help but think she had a very good point.

* * *

Two weeks after his indoor day with his mother, Remus was spending most days all alone while his parents worked; finding himself restless in the house on a bright Tuesday afternoon, he was lying on the grass at the back of the Lupin garden. He had been reading, but the warm sun and lazy sounds of chirping birds and cicadas were sending him off to sleep. This was not to last long – there was a sharp squawk in his ear followed almost immediately by an even sharper pinch to the soft skin behind his elbow. He let out a squawk of his own and jerked upright. His eyes narrowed when they fell on the charcoal-feathered menace that Sirius affectionately called Zoff. Remus couldn't fault the suitability of the name as it loosely translated from German to mean arguing or having trouble with someone, and Remus did have quite a lot of trouble with Zoff. Irritable and impatient as ever, the bird glowered at him and held out his leg so Remus could detach the message.

_Remus, _

_How's Shepton Mallet? I bet you're surprised to hear from me, but it's actually not going too badly over here. Reg got me to keep my mouth shut on our first day back because he failed Care of Magical Creatures (actually failed! The useless prick! Can you believe it? Even Peter passes Magical Creatures!) he was worried what Mother would do, but of course because it's perfect little Reggie she didn't even get angry. But the brilliance of the whole thing is she doesn't know what to do when I behave myself. So now fifteen days into the holidays and I've still got Zoff, and I'm packed to leave for Alphard's - mental! _

_Why didn't you tell me that's why you're good all the time? Because then you get to do what you want? I feel like I've stumbled onto some mass conspiracy that only bookish little bastards like you and Reg know. It's very selfish of you to keep it to yourself. I've taken the initiative to share the information with James. But I think that it's a little wasted on him since his parents don't understand the concept of real punishments. I mean, they know we had 23 detentions last term and he still gets to go on his mad Quidditch holiday whatever thingy with them?! It doesn't seem normal to me._

_I'm going to be staying with Alphard for a month, so I'll definitely be able to write for most of the summer, and he said he has some new records for me, brilliant!_

_Sirius _

Remus chuckled to himself as he got to his feet, urged on by Zoff and went inside to write a reply.

_Sirius,_

_It's not a conspiracy, we like to call it common sense. And I __**have**__ told you about it before, you just like having the last word far too much for it to be a long term strategy. _

_Shepton Mallet is fine, but a bit boring. Mum's got me a job at the news agents in the village, I start tomorrow so that will be interesting. I know you are probably laughing but I figure I can't use magic in the holidays so I might as well make some money. We don't all have wealthy uncles to keep up our record collection. _

_Have fun at Alphard's and let me know what records he gets you so I don't buy the same ones with my millions of shop-boy pounds. _

_Remus_

Remus rolled up his letter and tied it to Zoff's outstretched leg. The owl seemed to be reluctantly impressed with the haste in which Remus had penned his reply, and the look he gave him before he flew off could be described as appraising rather than the usual accusatory glare Remus tended to receive from the uppity bird. Remus flopped down on the grass again once Zoff had departed, intent on enjoying his last day as an unemployed youth.

Remus's mother had used her connections in the community to secure her fifteen year old son a job in the village news agents. Teenage boys were not in general particularly employable creatures due to their communicative skills being reduced to a series of grunts and scowls, but of course Remus was not this kind of teenager, his mother insisted. The short rotund manager of the shop, Maurice Collins, had been favourably impressed when he met Remus on Sunday afternoon just passed and Remus was to begin work on Wednesday.

In his letter to Sirius, Remus had been optimistic, but after a week of standing behind the counter smiling at customers, who for some reason thought he would very much like to know where they had just been or were about to go, Remus began to think that he might have been better off being bored at home. He would be poor, but at least free of old ladies and their rambling tales of how exactly the doctor had lanced their boil.

On the fourth Friday of the summer, Remus was helping Maurice put the newspaper headlines into their wireframes for street display before opening. He was always early on a Friday because it was a busy day, muggles all seemed to get their pay packets on a Friday and so they would be in a hurry to buy cigarettes and magazines before they had to pay their bills.

"Did you see the cricket last weekend, young Remus?" Maurice asked as he deftly snapped the overblown cover of _More!_ into its display. Maurice was a funny chap; he liked to talk to Remus about all sorts of things, but he insisted on calling him _young_ Remus, as if to differentiate from all the middle aged and old Remus's that frequented the counter.

In its way, that was much better than the usual comments that 'Remus' was an odd name, and _young_ Remus was better than _little _Remus or _runty _Remus, so he just nodded. "Yes! Those Aussies were much better than Denness gave them credit for - all out for a hundred and one?! What a shambles."

"You got that right," Maurice nodded, "if Grieg doesn't watch it they'll be taking The Ashes home again."

"Denness shouldn't have let them bat first," Remus said in agreement. As a general rule, Remus didn't follow sport, magical or muggle – though of course having James as a friend meant that even if you didn't actively follow the British Quidditch League you still knew a fair bit about it - but cricket was a little different. Everyone called it boring but he thought it was just peaceful, test cricket especially. A game that lasted five days, and most of it was spent standing around in the sunshine with only the occasional projectile heading your way? Not only that, but the players had breaks for tea? Tea and sunshine, it was just the sort of thing Remus could get behind. He also liked watching it on telly because he could really enjoy the book he was reading and keep track of the match at the same time because it took so long for anything to happen. Unfortunately the previous weekend had been a little dismal for the English side, being beaten by the touring Australians in the final day . He added hopefully, "Still three more in the series, they could come back."

Maurice nodded again and stood up, wincing as his overtaxed knees creaked and crunched with the movement. Remus was gathering the wire frames when there was a rapping on the half-pulled down roller door at the shop entrance. He hurried over to it with the frames under one arm, and pulled open the double doors that were part of the original shop, unlike the outer metal roll down one that had been added by Maurice in recent years.

Remus recognised the lace-up black bower boots and slightly-too-short cuffed jeans of the bloke who worked in the music shop a few doors down – he was the perfect example of a muggle on Friday payday. Remus heaved the metal door up and it rattled away to be swallowed into the ceiling. "Morning," he said brightly, and 'Music Bloke' (as Remus called him in his head) grinned. Even wearing a smile he was a bit intimidating, light coloured scruffy hair and while his t-shirts varied in slogan or band logo all seemed to be the same amount of worn, with frayed hems and little holes starting on the shoulder seams where his ever present braces rubbed.

"Mornin'," he said, "any chance I could grab some fags early? My bloody boss has decided to come in this morning – not the best look to be opening late just so I can buy my smokes and gum."

This was the longest sentence Remus had ever heard from Music Bloke; all he normally got was, _"Mornin' pack of 20's and some Juicy Fruit,"_ accompanied by a flick of his head that Remus assumed he was meant to interpret as a 'please'.

"Er, sure, go on through. Maurice is in there, he won't mind that it's a bit early."

"Cheers mate," Music Bloke said as he ducked into the shop. Remus was still setting up the footpath display when he reappeared, "Fucking travesty," he said as he tore into his smokes and began patting his pockets. Remus looked at him completely unsure about what to say; he wasn't at all sure what _travesty_ Music Bloke was referring to. The price of cigarettes? Having to open his shop on time? Remus's arrangement of the headline stands? His confusion must have shown on his face because Music Bloke nudged one of the frames with the heavy toe of his boot, indicating the cover of a woman's magazine proudly proclaiming an interview with a pop singer who was '_the future of music_'. He had found his lighter too, and lit his smoke before saying, "Don't know how they can call that shite music."

Remus had no idea who the woman was – having had his music taste thoroughly influenced by Sirius's obsession with muggle rock, he was very limited in his knowledge of other genres. He looked at Music Bloke and said, "I've never heard of her, is she really awful?"

"You've never heard of Cassie Cassidy? Christ mate, you lucky bastard." Music Bloke said with a half laugh.

"If you say so," Remus said, "my friend and I have been collecting records since last summer, but it's mostly rock - he loves it."

"What's your favourite album then?" he asked, still eyeing the vacant smile and blonde bouffant of Miss Cassidy distastefully.

"Er…" Remus said his mind going blank momentarily, "probably Van Morrison's live one, you know with the all the American shows? But that's because I only just got it at Christmas. I really want Queen's latest."

"Sheer Heart Attack? Not bad." Music Bloke said, nodding thoughtfully, "we have it, it's a pretty good album."

Remus smiled and thought that Music Bloke was much friendlier than his appearance suggested. Maurice's voice interrupted Remus's train of thought, "Remus? Have you finished out there? It's nearly eight thirty."

"Coming Mr Collins," Remus called back hurriedly. He glanced at Music Bloke who was grinding his butt end into the footpath. "Hope your boss doesn't make you work too hard," Remus said as he started back towards the door to the shop.

"He will, but it's only for the day, then he'll bugger off again and I can go back to opening at eight thirty five." He tucked the remaining smokes into his back pocket and pulled a jingling set of keys from another, then flicked his fingers in a half salute and said, "See ya Remus!" before heading back down the street to the record shop.

As Remus watched him go he couldn't help but feel a little proud. He had managed to have a conversation with someone who was quite obviously very cool, and had not embarrassed himself with either the cluelessness of a wizard, or the awkwardness of an academic.


	3. Chapter 3

Sirius spent the morning before Alphard's arrival alone in his room, a self-imposed exile. The less he saw his family, the more likely he would be able to resist saying something to his mother that would result in the holiday being cancelled, and it was worth temporary imprisonment so long as he was allowed to leave - especially to leave with his uncle.

Uncle Alphard was another example of the slightly unstable Black gene. He was not as bigoted as the residents of Number Twelve, having spent most of his life traveling the world - properly traveling, too. When Sirius's parents "travelled", it was apparition or floo direct to large estate house, château, villa or similar, where they would carry out the same daily routine as they did in Grimmauld Place – except there would be croissants with breakfast rather than rolls. No, Alphard showed his unstableness by way of trips down rivers filled with man-eating crocodiles and treks up perilous snow covered mountains. The pictures he brought home were enough to keep Sirius occupied for hours when he was young, spending more time than was wise fantasising about a life like Alphard's, free and dangerous, exciting and unexpected. These were things that he couldn't really bear to think about in more recent years; it just reminded him that unless his mother spontaneously combusted – fingers crossed – he was going to be living in a completely different world, one where the most exciting part of his day was deciding what to have for lunch.

Sirius had been toying with the idea of suggesting to his grandfather that he pursue a career rather than go directly into his role as heir after Hogwarts. It wasn't like Pollux was going to willingly hand the reins over any time soon, and he certainly wasn't going to die – the man was only sixty three and led a reasonably healthy lifestyle, several glasses of whiskey with lunch notwithstanding. Somehow it was never mentioned that they were skipping a generation; Orion was almost non-existent. Sirius supposed that once again it came down to the right thing for the family, and that was never going to be Orion and his distrustful manic behaviour.

Over the last year James had been talking constantly about applying to be an Auror when they finished school and it made Sirius hope that he could do the same. Surely there would be a way to convince his mother and grandfather that having their heir work a respectable job would be good for the family image. Sirius of course didn't give a shit about the _family image_ but it would be a way to slow down her ridiculous drive to marry him off, maybe even give him time to choose his own wife, but that was only part of it. He would get to _do_ something.

The wizarding world was not a peaceful place at the moment. For nearly ten years now a resistance to the current social structure had been growing. The leader of the extremists, a man called Voldemort, was strange and dangerous character; Sirius's immediate family wholeheartedly supported what Voldemort had set out to achieve, and many of his followers were close friends and relations of the Black family.

It had seemed at first as though Voldemort - or '_The Dark Lord'_ as most of the Blacks referred to him - would fade into the background. Of course normal witches and wizards would not support the idea that purebloods deserved more rights than other magical people, and Sirius's family (not falling under the heading 'normal' in any way, shape or form) were the exception, he was sure - or at least he had been. Things were getting more complicated every year, or maybe Sirius was just learning more as he got older; it was hard to tell sometimes. '_Let the grown ups deal with it,_' Mr Potter always said, and James's father was one of the more outspoken supporters of equal freedoms and retaining the current laws. On his advice, Sirius and James had not really let the brewing war get to them too much, and it was hard to even think of it as a "brewing war", but it seemed to be true. Somehow Voldemort did seem to be gaining support, there were certainly more deaths and disappearances in the last year than ever before; it seemed that anyone who was particularly vocal about their disbelief in Voldemort's systems would either change their opinion over night or be found dead, or even worse, just vanish, wasting the overstretched Ministry's time and resources looking for someone who in all likelihood was dead anyway.

Sirius knew that the people who visited Grimmauld Place all thought like his parents, that they all believed in and helped fund Voldemort's cause. The worst thing was that once he had finished school Sirius would be expected to help entertain these people. Currently he was forced to sit in the dining room with them, but as a minor was never called upon for his opinion so he normally managed to make it through dinner without having to speak – the exception being the general disapproval of Albus Dumbledore and his very public and persuasive speeches on the topic of equality and how muggleborns and purebloods were of no difference. Because Dumbledore was also the headmaster of Hogwarts Sirius was often asked to speak of what the adults assumed would be examples of his muggle-loving behaviour in the castle, this of course never amounted to much because Sirius would just say that Dumbledore treated everyone the same – except Professor McGonagall who was a frighteningly stern woman and Sirius thought even Dumbledore was a little afraid of her. Regulus would agree with Sirius when the adults decided that Sirius wasn't the right student to ask because he was in Gryffindor. With Regulus's confirmation however they were forced to complain that muggleborns were allowed to attend Hogwarts at all and mutter about how they would be sending their own children to Durmstrang. This unstable climate was the reason Sirius was so happy to have the chance to escape to his uncle's in Edinburgh. Blood puritans did not call for dinner there because Alphard would tell them to sod off.

The best thing about his uncle's house in Scotland was that it was in a muggle street that also had several restaurants, a book shop and – Sirius's favourite – a music shop that sold everything from instruments and record players to posters and t-shirts as well as the records themselves. It was brilliant. Alphard's house was a terrace house like Twelve Grimmauld Place but it wasn't rigged with all the insane security that the London house had. It was also much less creepy. Not a serpent-headed tap in sight.

Kreacher appeared in the middle of Sirius's bedroom with a sudden loud crack and Sirius jumped in fright, lost in thought as he had been. "Bloody hell!" he exclaimed in shock, "why don't you come to the door?"

"Kreacher is in a hurry Master, Mistress's brother has arrived you and Master Regulus will be leaving momentarily, Kreacher must collect your luggage." With that the elf seized the end of Sirius's trunk and vanished again.

Sirius shook his head as he heard the tell-tale sound of Kreacher knocking politely on his brother's bedroom door. The elf probably had orders to spy on Sirius; despite being pleased, his mother was suspicious of his good behaviour this summer. He was sure she was waiting for the owl telling her he'd burned Hogwarts to the ground or murdered some Slytherin prefect and was overcompensating to lull her into a false sense of security. It wouldn't come of course, Sirius had just learned that keeping quiet meant a proper summer. He would never mention it to Regulus, who still believed Sirius was being good just for him and his bad marks, but it was the most brilliant scheme ever.

Sirius made his way downstairs to find his uncle waiting in the entrance hall. Alphard was not quite fifty yet, although his weathered face could be deceiving. He was much more tanned than any of the London branch of the family and his skin crinkled around his eyes almost more than his father's. He was dressed – to Walburga's obvious distaste – in casual trousers and a sport coat, with his dark hair cut much shorter than Sirius had ever seen it; most of the men in the Black family wore their hair long and tied back, and Alphard had at one point, too, but now it was trimmed enough to show his ears.

"Sirius," he said with a broad smile, extending his hand in greeting when Sirius reached him. "Good grief lad!" he exclaimed as he shook his nephew's hand, "You've outgrown me already!" It was true, Sirius realised. He had not seen Alphard the previous year, due to being shut in his room for most of the summer because he had, _by accident_, ruined Regulus's new broom. His daring escape from Grimmauld Place via the attic on the borrowed (it wasn't stolen - Reg was going to get it back!) broom had met his father's wards and come crashing back to earth, with Reg's broom coming to a splintery end care of the nasty enchantment on the wrought iron garden fence, and that was the end of Sirius going outside that summer. And now Sirius was eye level with his uncle, which Sirius found a bit disconcerting. Being taller than a proper grown up made him feel a little odd.

"Yes," Walburga said, with a smile in Sirius's direction that made his skin crawl. The woman really shouldn't smile – it was far too sinister. "He obviously takes after Father, unlike you and poor Cygnus, forced to bear mothers stature."

"Indeed," Alphard said, his eyes slightly concerned as they took in the scene of Walburga smiling at her eldest son. Fortunately Regulus arrived downstairs at that moment.

"Uncle!" he said happily, shaking Alphard's hand as Sirius had done.

"How are you Reggie?" Alphard asked, "I'm pleased to see at least you have the decency to remain a proper height, although you'll need to watch it."

Regulus looked slightly confused and then muttered, "Must you call me Reggie? I'm nearly fourteen you know."

"Yes. I must." Alphard said with a chuckle. "And even when you're thirty I'll still be calling you Reggie, so grin and bear it kid."

Regulus wrinkled his nose but didn't say anything. Sirius was smiling smugly to himself, one of the things he liked best about Alphard was his determination to treat Regulus like a child, but Sirius was always addressed like an adult. It was nice that there were some perks to being the eldest.

_CRACK._ "I have delivered the trunks Mistress," Kreacher said, appearing at the foot of the stairs.

Walburga gave a nod in the elf's direction and he vanished. She turned to her sons and said, "Make sure you are on your best behaviour, I expect a continuation of what you have shown yourself capable of this month Sirius. Alphard, I wish to be informed if you have any problems with them. Although I will say that Sirius finally seems to have accepted his duty."

Alphard's previously concerned look changed to one of downright fear. "_He has_?"

"Yes," Walburga said, her lip curling as she placed a silver ringed hand on Sirius's shoulder. Sirius tensed but did not react, was this another test? Was she trying to get him to deny it so she could cancel his holiday? His uncle was looking at him with barely concealed panic and Sirius longed to tell him that it was all an act, that he had finally, _finally_ found a way to beat his mother. But he couldn't, of course.

Sirius nodded in answer to Alphard's question and stepped out from under his mother's hand. "Let's go, shall we?" he said with a meaningful look at his uncle that his mother couldn't see.

"Yes, yes let's," Alphard said hastily, his eyes flicking from his sister to his nephew.

Sirius received another pat on the shoulder in farewell from his mother. Thankfully, she was still suspicious enough that he didn't warrant the brief peck on the cheek that Regulus's status as endlessly perfect child afforded.

* * *

19 Lonsdale Terrace seemed to have far more windows than Grimmauld place, even though the two houses were very similar in floor plan. The only real difference was that the basement – occupied by the kitchen in London – was Alphard's collection room, full of all the strange and wonderful things he had brought back from his many trips around the world. Alphard's kitchen was on the ground floor, and was well lit by the large windows that faced the alley that ran behind Lonsdale. Sirius often wondered if these windows were enchanted because they seemed to let in far more light from the narrow alley than they should. The kitchen itself housed a square dining table that Alphard insisted they eat at most evenings, because he disliked the formality of the dining room across the entranceway.

It was at this informal table, in the cheerfully lit kitchen, that Sirius found himself being interrogated. He had never been able to see the resemblance between his mother and her brother before, but this evening in the pleasant Scottish sunlight they looked remarkably similar.

"You've accepted your duty?" Alphard asked without preamble once his elf, Wilky, had set the table with tea makings and chocolate biscuits and disappeared with a happy little grin and pop into nothingness. Sirius found Wilky to be suspiciously cheerful in comparison to Kreacher, but then a well grown turnip could also be considered _suspiciously cheerful_ when compared to Number Twelve's elf, so perhaps Wilky was just the right amount of cheerful by house elf standards after all.

"No Uncle," Sirius said with a nervous laugh in answer to Alphard's worried question, "I've just not been arguing with her. Reg failed Care of Magical Creatures and he asked me not to rile her up - I thought it was the least I could do after last summer."

Alphard did not look appeased. He stirred his tea before saying in a would-be casual manner, "So you haven't made her any promises then?"

Sirius met his eyes, surprised that he would be so worried about him, "No, I've barely said a whole sentence since I arrived. Why are you so worried anyway? You're always telling me to keep my rebellion subtle."

"That's true." His uncle sighed. "I've been hearing a lot of unpleasant things lately. I was worried you had accepted an offer, but you say you've promised nothing?"

"No," Sirius said for the third time, beginning to feel like he was missing something he asked, "Accepted an offer? Like marriage, you mean? She has spent the whole summer parading the daughters of her ghastly friends in front of me. I thought she'd at least wait until next summer for that nonsense to start."

Alphard looked very relieved as he smiled, "You're lucky she waited this long," he said, and his tone became almost gossipy, "you know she and Orion were married the week after Grindelwald was defeated in Europe. Your father was barely seventeen, but Pollux was concerned for the future of the family, with myself not showing any interest in, … er, _marrying_, and Cygnus being such a sickly child, they wanted to ensure the Black name continue."

Sirius nodded, glad that Alphard had cheered up a little and because it had not occurred to him before Sirius asked, "Why were you allowed to stay un-married? You're Pollux's eldest son, I thought they'd have been pretty pushy."

"They were at first, especially when your mother took so long to produce you, but father soon learnt that I was not suitable for marriage."

Sirius was confused for a moment. "Oh, because of all the traveling?" he asked.

Alphard gave him an odd little smile and then said, "Yes, but also because I prefer the company of men."

Sirius snorted, thinking of Cecilia Selwyn. "Don't we all," he muttered.

"Really?" Alphard asked sharply.

Sirius looked up at the shocked tone of voice, and suddenly the meaning of Alphard's original statement hit him, "Oh," he stuttered, "oh right, men, er … well I guess you wouldn't be very good for heir production then."

"Quite," his uncle said, his forehead contracted in concern, "so when you agreed with me just now …"

Sirius gave an embarrassed laugh, "No uncle, I'm fine with girls - just not the ones mother insists on, or the idea of getting married. Maybe I should tell her I take after you," he said with a grin as the wonderful idea occurred.

Alphard raised his eyebrow, although he did look relieved he said seriously, "There is a reason I'm not around the family very much Sirius, you do not want to deal with what I had too." He took a sip from his tea and said quietly, "Because of my inclination Cygnus was married to that horrible Rosier woman when he was only thirteen , he never even got to finish school – but they were determined to carry on the line. Then Walburga was having so much trouble conceiving and Cygnus was only producing girls, and they had almost given up hope of the Black name continuing. You wouldn't want to put that on Reggie would you?"

Sirius shook his head, feeling a bit guilty for making light of something that obviously still bothered his uncle. "No, of course not. He would never cope. I have been thinking about trying to convince Grandfather that I should take a Ministry job when I finish school," he said trying for a lighter topic of conversation. "You know that if he thinks it's a good idea then Mother will agree eventually."

Alphard grinned, "Indeed, Daddy's little girl as ever. But why do you want to work, and for the Ministry? I didn't think that would appeal to you."

"Because then I can find my own wife," Sirius blurted out. He thought of the other reasons - to do something important, to make his own name separate from the family - but really what he was most afraid of was ending up stuck with a girl just like his mother. "It will give me a bit of time before all that … you know …" He shrugged, "I just can't imagine that in two years I'll be ready to get married. Or that the girl Mother insists on would want to be my wife, it just seems so mental to force it when it should be something happy."

Alphard gave him a shrewd smile, "I knew Gryffindor would be bad for you. It's turned the heir of The Ancient and Noble House of Black into a romantic."

Sirius blushed. "Shut up," he muttered.

"No," Alphard said with a chuckle, "that's the thing, your mother has never known romance, she can't possibly understand the draw of choosing to spend your life with someone because you like them no matter their blood or family connection, to her _those_ are romance." Sirius didn't reply, annoyed at himself for even bringing it up. It was stupid, he didn't want to get married at all, he was fifteen for goodness sake, what teenage boy thought about getting married? Merlin it was so mental. "Cheer up lad," Alphard said with a clap to his shoulder "What sort of Ministry job are you thinking of taking?"

"An Auror," Sirius said, perking up at once. "James's dad is one. It sounds brilliant, and then I could do something _useful_ rather than just sit behind a desk dolling out galleons to evil bastards."

Alphard chuckled again, "I'd work on your persuasive argument before you present it to Father."

"I was thinking more along the lines of 'it will be good for the family image'," Sirius said, starting to laugh too at the picture of Pollux's face if he heard Sirius referring to the head of the family's role as '_doling out galleons to evil bastards_'

"That's not a bad angle," Alphard said approvingly. "I guess it will depend on the situation with the Dark Lord, if he looks like winning by the time you've finished school then being employed as a dark wizard catcher might not be the image my father is looking for, but if the wind is blowing the other way, you might just be in luck."

"Do you really think he'll still be around then?" Sirius asked disbelievingly, as he dunked his biscuit in his tea, "Voldemort? Surely the Ministry will have sorted him out by then."

Alphard sighed heavily, "He is stronger than people want to admit, I wouldn't be surprised if we are still fighting him in a decade."

"We?" Sirius said shrewdly looking at his uncle closely, he lowered his voice and asked, "Are you working for Dumbledore?" In Sirius's mind there were only two sides in this weird rebellion, Dumbledore's and the others.

"No," Alphard said abruptly, almost as though he was insulted, "but I have contacts, I was in Al Menya for the last six weeks trying to find out how Voldemort is recruiting. It's not directly related to Dumbledore but we know a lot of the same people."

"Oh right." Sirius said slowly, completely forgetting about his half submerged bicky that was becoming soggier by the second, "So … what did you find out?"

His uncle snorted, "That there is a reason that even the muggles wear robes in Egypt – sand and trousers do not mix."

Sirius bit his lip in disappointment, both at the lack of information and the dull thud of half his biscuit being lost to bottom of his tea cup. He had been hoping to have some impressive insider knowledge to share with James that wasn't of the evil variety for a change. "You wouldn't tell me anyway would you?"

"Nope. Sorry lad," Alphard said consolingly, "there is nothing you can do to help just yet. Although I thought we should do some duelling practice while you're here - never hurts to be prepared."

"Okay," Sirius said with a smile. Duelling practice meant having permission to fight with his little brother, always good fun.

"So are you really not going to say anything about my preferences?" Alphard said as he checked the fullness of the tea pot and reheated the remains with a tap of his wand. "I expected a bigger reaction from you, to be honest."

Sirius shrugged, "Why? What do I care if you're queer? The idea of you shagging a bloke is much less offensive than Mother and Father in bed together and I _know_ that happened at least twice," he winced at the unavoidable mental image but continued, "so I'm not bothered." Alphard looked quite shocked at this blasé attitude and Sirius couldn't help himself, he asked innocently, "So Uncle Alphie, do you have a _boyfriend_?"

"No," Alphard said weakly, with a slight scowl at his nephew, "no, I'm away too much for anything permanent."

"Oh, that's a pity." Sirius said amused at his uncle's reaction.

"What's a pity?" Regulus asked from the doorway, startling both of them.

"That Uncle doesn't have a boyfriend," Sirius said blithely as he pushed his chair out from the table.

Alphard's face paled slightly as Regulus's mouth gaped for a moment, but then the younger Black began to laugh, "Merlin you're weird, Sirius. I just came to tell you that there is a very large pile of those muggle music things you like in our room –" He didn't even finish the sentence before Sirius was on his feet and racing from the kitchen. He hurriedly called out thanks to his uncle as he darted past Regulus and started up the stairs.

'_Those muggle music things'_ could only mean records. Alphard knew that Sirius had developed something of an obsession with them over the last year. So far he owned six, and while he thought that was quite impressive he just wanted more. They were so brilliant – a flat piece of plasti c that made sound, and what amazing sound! It was like muggle magic. Muggles sung about things Sirius had never even _thought _of before, they weren't told how to act or afraid of being murdered for speaking out; the muggle world in Sirius's mind epitomised freedom. They had their fair share of issues but bad things didn't seem to happen to the people that complained about it. Music was also one of the reasons Sirius wasn't bothered by Alphard's revelation, free love and fluidity were mentioned so often that Sirius had come to the conclusion that it didn't really matter who you kissed as long as you were happy.

He could hear Regulus on the staircase behind him as he opened the door to the room they shared at Lonsdale. It was on the second floor and had more of the windows that were a touch too illuminating to be natural. His eyes fell at once on the stack of sleeves piled neatly atop the bedspread of his customary bed. There were so many - at least ten! Sirius's grin was hurting his cheeks as he fell on the bed and began to spread them out on the mattress to view their magnificence all at once.

"I really don't get why you are so obsessed with them Sirius." Regulus said from behind him, Sirius didn't need to turn around to know that his brother's nose would be crinkled up in distaste as he spoke, "It's just muggle rubbish. Imagine if Mother figured out that's what you'd been listening to."

"Yeah, but she won't," Sirius said distractedly, flipping over the nearest one to see the song list on the back, "she has no idea, and don't call it rubbish Reg it's brilliant you know, muggle music." He finally looked away from the records to see that he had been right, his brother's face was indeed scrunched up like he smelled something terrible. Sirius just smiled happily at him.

"So you keep saying," Regulus huffed, sitting on the edge of his own bed and frowning at the records as though they were insulting him, which Sirius supposed in a way they were. "I guess it's better for you to enjoy it now," he picked up his book from the bedside table and opened it as he said offhandedly, "it's not like you'll be able to once you accept."

"Accept? That's what Alphard was talking about. If I'm going to be forced into marrying some daft galleon-grubbing bird, I'm going to listen to whatever I damn well please." Sirius said returning his attention to his new collection.

Regulus snorted, "No, it's a bit more important than that, you idiot. Accept a place with the Dark Lord? I heard Mother talking with Bella during the ladies tea last week, Bella was asking about your attitude towards them now."

"What?!" Sirius almost shouted.

Regulus frowned and said impatiently "Well it's sort of obvious isn't it? Of course that's what they would want – the Dark Lord is powerful, he's going to rule Britain soon enough, it makes sense to show loyalty early on, it will keep the family safe."

"What?" Sirius said again quieter this time, but he was far more concerned, "Are you actually serious? Voldemort is a fucking maniac Reg. He'll never win."

"Don't get mad at me," Regulus said not meeting his eyes and tuning a page in his book, "I'm just telling you what I heard."

Sirius stood up, muggle music forgotten, he wrenched the book from his brother's grasp to get his attention and hissed, "But you believe it!"

Regulus rolled his eyes at the dramatics, "Well, yeah, I think he probably will win and so what? It's not like we're going to be affected either way."

Sirius felt his mouth drop open, "Bloody hell," he muttered, "You are such a _Slytherin_."

"Thanks," Regulus said and he snatched his book back from Sirius's distracted grip.

Sirius sat on his bed again not quite able to believe the words that had left his brothers mouth, eventually he asked, "But do you _really _not care if people are tortured and killed? Don't you think there has to be something wrong if he wants to hurt them for something they can't change, for how they were born?"

"I don't really know," Regulus said, looking up at his brother. He seemed to genuinely think about it for a minute, "I think that we need to make sure wizards survive, and that the traditions are kept, I mean they're so much of who we are, and if more and more marry muggles then their kids are often magic but don't know anything about being a proper wizard... It doesn't seem right," he finished pensively.

"So they should be _killed!?_" Sirius asked forgetting to keep his voice down.

Regulus jumped slightly, "No, no they shouldn't have to die," he said hastily, "not ones that are already born, but I think it would be better if we stopped intermarrying."

"Reg," Sirius said in exasperation, "do you want to shag one of our cousins? Or merlin, worse even, Marissa Sarfiq?"

"No I –" Regulus started but Sirius cut him off.

"Because they are your only choices if you want to keep it all magic. Wouldn't you rather pick some pretty half-blood who was kind, and not a social climber like Mother? A girl that loved you, not the gold and the name?" Sirius was starting to feel like he had thought far too deeply about marriage in recent weeks if such things would pop from his mouth without any effort.

"I guess, but there are nice purebloods too, I'm sure I could find someone." Regulus said almost to himself.

Sirius sighed and flopped back on the bed. "You know what Reg, you're probably right, you will get to choose. Lucky bastard."

"The MacMillan girl from the other night seemed nice." Regulus said, seeming to understand Sirius's discontent.

"Hmmm I guess," Sirius mumbled "a bit boring though, and she's our second cousin."

"Don't worry about that now anyway," Regulus said "Grandfather will let you pick the best one, you know that, and I bet he'll find a way to delay it. Mother listens to him."

"That's true." Sirius said, and it was - Pollux was definitely his best ally in this situation. He was quiet for a moment before he asked, "Do you really think Mother would try and force me to join Voldemort?"

Regulus looked at him sharply. "I don't know, I don't think so, it is a dangerous thing to do. But if he offers you a place, what happens if you say no?" His fingers tapped against the spine of his book as he thought about it, "I suppose that won't happen right away, they won't ask you till you're of age I wouldn't think."

"I doesn't matter anyway," Sirius said abruptly to the ceiling, "because I won't do it. No way."

"Even if it looked like he was winning?" Regulus asked softly.

"_Especially_ if it looked like he was winning, then he'd need fighting against all the more."

* * *

**^V^**

* * *

**_A/N:_ **_If you feel like nerding-out, Lonsdale Terrace is a real place, unfortunately google maps doesn't show the unplottable number 19. (Thank goodness for fanfiction, my only outlet for the overwhelming geekiness trapped inside.) _


	4. Chapter 4

To Remus's great surprise Music Bloke – or Julian as he was actually called – and himself had become something like friends. Julian was on his school holidays too, it turned out; Remus had thought him older because he ran the record store and just seemed much more like an adult in their brief interactions, but Julian would be returning to the local Sixth-Form College come September. Remus was very proud of himself to have made friends with someone who was not only older but had access to all the best records – James and Sirius would be very impressed. There was a freedom that came with being friends with a muggle, Remus found: though he obviously had to hide most of his true life from Julian, he didn't have the constant worry that he would find out Remus was a werewolf. And for Remus, only having to deal with the fear of being shunned like a _normal _wizard was quite a novelty.

They had progressed beyond nodding-acquaintances primarily because Remus was having a stressful summer and behaving a bit unlike himself. One morning in July, he had awoken to legs that felt like he was recovering from the full moon, even though that had been more than a week before - shooting pains in his bones that wouldn't go away no matter what he did. His father had procured him some pain potion but it wasn't the sort of thing you could take for weeks on end, but it at least gave him some relief while they tried to figure out what was wrong with him. It was Ruth who worked it out in the end, with some combination of a mother's intuition and the large collection of reference books - both muggle and magical - that she had accumulated in the pokey little third bedroom, a key part of her plan for homeschooling Remus. Though Remus was very glad that Dumbledore was insane enough to invite a werewolf to Hogwarts, he was also happy to have his mother's library on-hand at home, for situations like summer homework and, it turned out, medical diagnosis.

The pains, exhaustion and endless hunger Remus had been suffering from since late last term were alarming, but turned out to be something very common among teenage boys - a growth spurt. Remus's however was slightly exacerbated by his lycanthropy; six weeks into the summer, the trousers Remus had worn home on the train now resembled the sort of mid-calf leisure slacks that he saw middle-aged women wearing for convenience in bicycle riding. Remus, always short and skinny for his age, was obviously very pleased to be growing taller but there were down-sides: growing pains in his legs and being constantly starving had an adverse effect on his usually patient temperament.

* * *

On the fifth Monday morning of the summer holidays Remus had been very close to being late for work. Thankfully his mother had pulled him by the ankle out of his bed onto the floor and promised fish and chips for dinner if he got moving. That had only been fifteen minutes before he was swinging himself around the newsagents doorway, his chest heaving from the normally twenty minute walk he had managed in ten by running the whole way, while attempting to devour an apple.

"Where's the fire?" Maurice had asked.

Remus smiled at the poor joke and panted, "Sorry, I overslept."

"No harm done, young Remus," Maurice said, throwing the last few pennies into the till and shutting the drawer with a practiced bump of his belly.

The morning passed excruciatingly slowly, and by ten o'clock Remus was not feeling at all like himself, and in a less-than-pleasant mood. His knees ached and his stomach was growling so violently his whole body shook with each rumble. Remus surreptitiously leaned against the counter and glanced at the clock; Maurice was having his tea break and in fifteen short minutes it would be Remus's turn, so he could handle the lightheaded feeling of hunger till then. He whiled away the intervening time with his mind firmly fixed on the bakers across the village square.

An irritable tutting interrupted Remus's cream bun fantasy and he focused on the short and generally agitated Mrs Higgins, one of the most prevalent complainers that frequented the news agents. It seemed every week she had some new life-threatening ailment, which apparently could only be cured by describing it in mind-numbing detail to the quiet and usually patient boy behind the counter when she came to pick up her morning paper and 2p bag of butterscotch.

"Mrs Higgins," Remus said with an attempt at a smile, he rung up her purchases quickly in the hope that she wouldn't begin to tell him of her latest affliction. The door jingled as Mrs Higgins searched for her coin purse, and Remus looked up to see Music Bloke entering. He didn't come straight to the counter for fags and gum as he usually did, but instead made a beeline for the large confectionary display on the opposite wall. Remus looked back at the muttering Mrs Higgins who had halted her search for coins in favour of reading the headline on the front of the paper: "_HOFFA MISSING – FEAR ASSOC. WITH MOB._"

"Honestly, why do they think we would care about those dirty crooks?" Mrs Higgins said in a scandalised voice. "It's as bad as that nonsense with that Davis fellow, criminals, all of them!"

"Mmm," Remus said noncommittally. He knew vaguely of the George Davis situation - a man imprisoned for a crime he didn't commit according to strong campaigning on telly.

"Wouldn't have had all these layabouts arguing with the police when I was young," she continued in agitation. Music Bloke had moved to stand behind Mrs Higgins and was restraining a smirk as she continued to mutter about the uncouthness of young people, who should just be grateful they didn't have to live through two wars and a depression like she had.

"Yes Mrs Higgins," Remus sighed as his stomach rumbled and he felt a wave of hunger-induced nausea wash over him. "That's 32p," he added in the hope of speeding her along.

"Yes yes," she said grumpily restarting her search for the appropriate coins. "You should watch your tone with me," she said, "you don't want to turn out like those good-for-nothings I see on the telly with their signs, questioning the Prime Minister, wanting buggery made legal, honestly you don't want to get caught up with that lot, lazy degenerates wouldn't know a proper day's work if it bit them on the nose!"

Remus stared at her for a moment, unable to believe that this blue-permed, whiney but generally harmless old woman could be such an opinionated bint. "Yes, absolutely. Ridiculous to ask for fair trials and equal rights. The nerve of them," he said blandly.

Mrs Higgins dropped her handful of coins on the counter, looking aghast at Remus, who suddenly realised that he had said his grumbling thought aloud.

"Well I never!" she huffed, as Remus hurriedly scooped the correct change from the scattered coins. Music Bloke was snickering, hiding his face behind a jumbo packet of Strawberry Bootlaces. Mrs Higgins glanced over her shoulder at him, taking in the tattered t-shirt and heavy laced-up boots with a shudder. She snatched her coins and paper from the counter top and said, "I'm very glad I won't see the day this generation are in charge of our country!" then she stormed from the little shop.

Remus hoped she hadn't heard Music Bloke's parting remark of, "We're very glad about that too madam," delivered with a sarcastic half bow, but he supposed it didn't matter; Remus was probably going to get in quite a bit of trouble from Maurice for being rude to a customer.

"That was fucking brilliant, mate," Music Bloke said, as he dumped his armful of sweets on the counter.

Remus couldn't help but smile a little bit at the praise. He knew he should be more worried, and possibly feel guilty for mouthing off to a doddering old lady, but as Music Bloke continued to chortle, Remus thought of the disbelieving looks on James and Sirius's faces when he told them about it, and he joined in laughing.

As he started to ring up the pile of sweets, he frowned, not just because they reminded him just how starving he was, but because it was very out of the ordinary for Music Bloke to buy anything that wasn't gum or fags or the occasional lighter. "Quitting smoking?" Remus asked him; perhaps he was replacing cigarettes with Mars bars.

"Nah," Music Bloke said, "my Dad has a few friends coming to stay for the week and they're right stuck up, I like to have supplies so I don't need to associate with them any more than necessary."

"You're going to live on Jaffa cakes for the whole week?" Remus asked incredulously.

"Ha, no - I got curly-whirlys too," he replied with a laugh.

Remus snorted, "A well balanced diet then." His eyes widened slightly at the six pound charge; Music Bloke's house guests must be total wankers if he was willing to spend that much on rations. Remus only earned sixteen pound a week! "Er …" he said, "six and two pence."

Music Bloke grinned as he put the money into Remus's upturned hand, "And worth it."

"Must be time for your tea break then, young Remus," Maurice's voice called as he made his way back into the shop. "Oh, hello there Julian, how's your father?" he added as he came to stand behind the counter with Remus.

_Julian?_ thought Remus. He'd often wondered what Music Bloke's real name was, imagining that it would be something that suited the slightly rough-looking and -mannered fellow. Not something flowery like Julian.

"Very well thank you Mr Collins," Julian said with a polite dip of his head. Remus couldn't quite believe that this was the same bloke who'd barely spoken a full sentence to him before last Friday, when they had discussed the _'fucking travesty_' that was Cassie Cassidy's singing.

"I heard he's starting a new job?" Maurice asked before shooing Remus away.

Remus didn't need to be told twice. He ducked out from under the counter, his mind on the bakery once again as Julian said, "Not really, same company but a different role. He'll have to travel a lot, I don't think Mum's too pleased about the whole arrangement."

Remus didn't hear the rest of the conversation because he was already out the door and crossing the square before Maurice could inquire further.

* * *

His sanity was on its way to restoration, care of an obscenely large apple turnover that was much more whipped cream than it was apples or turn-over. The little table that Remus sat at outside the baker's shop was a relatively new addition, and hardly a popular spot. Alfresco dining was not especially common in Shepton Mallet - while Somerset did have lovely warm summer days, they could vanish in a matter of minutes giving you no warning before your Sally-lunn bun was ruined by a sudden shower. Weather aside, it just wasn't done; most self-respecting Sheptonites wouldn't been seen dead eating outdoors like a Frenchie. Remus didn't really care if he looked French, or if it started to rain, and was just licking the excess cream from his fingers when a voice interrupted him.

"Fag?" It was Julian, holding out his carton of Benson and Hedges as he plonked himself into the chair on the other side of the little table.

"No thanks," said Remus, as he opened his second bag from the bakers, this one contained an oversized Cornish pasty.

"Alright then," Julian said as he lit up.

Remus grinned, "My Dad says the reason people smoke is so they get a sit down at work, he says he doesn't need to cause he spends his day sitting in the lorry driving around, I figure I don't need to cause Maurice lets me have time off to eat pastries."

Julian laughed, "True," he said, "I suppose I don't need to then since my boss only shows up once in a blue moon?" Remus didn't know what to say to that, but just as he swallowed his mouthful of Cornish mince Julian continued, "God, old Mrs Higgins is a piece of work isn't she?"

"She's not normally that grouchy," Remus said, "whines about her health like you wouldn't believe but seems okay most of the time."

"Must just be my presence then." Julian said, "She's a mad old bat you know, lives next door to me. The kids in our street all think she's a witch." He chuckled at the ridiculous notion as he tapped the growing ash off his smoke. Remus watched it float to the footpath. "So then Remus, other than telling off defenceless old ladies, what do you do for fun?"

"Not much this summer," Remus said, realising that it was true, five weeks had gone by and all he'd done was watch a bit of cricket, write to Sirius and Peter – James was still off gallivanting around the Quidditch stadiums of Europe – and go to work. _God,_ he thought, it was one thing to be boring during term time, when there was schoolwork to be done and a future to prepare for, but to spend the holidays as a working, letter writing, _cricket _watcher smacked of a gentleman in his fifties. "Been working a lot, but it'll be worth it. I … er, wanted to ask you a favour actually." he said as inspiration struck.

Julian lifted an eyebrow in question, "Oh yeah? What would that be?"

"I've saved pretty much all the money I earned this summer and I want to spend most of it on records," Remus said; it had been his plan from the start to use his money this way. "I could do with a professional opinion," he finished hopefully.

Julian's eyes widened as he took a drag on his smoke. He exhaled and asked, "How much are we talking?"

"Well," Remus said slowly, "by the end of this week, should have close to seventy pounds."

"Fucking hell mate!" Julian exclaimed, "that will buy you a fair few records, but won't your old man go spare at you wasting all your money?"

"It's hardly a waste," Remus said slightly indignantly.

"_I_ know that, but folks … you know, they aren't normally so good about it. I'll help you spend it though!" he said hastily, laughing in a bemused way, "Don't worry about that."

"Brilliant," Remus said.

* * *

For the next two weeks Remus saw Julian every day. He would poke his head around the door at quarter to eleven and say, "Good morning Mr Collins, is it time for Remus's tea break?" Maurice would confirm that it was and Remus would follow Julian down to the record store. He'd sit in the chair behind the counter and Julian would bring his latest stack of musical pickings over for Remus to look at while he ate his morning tea. It turned out that spending seventy pounds on records was a little bit mad - at a fiver for the newest releases and only a crown for some highly recommended 'classic' 45's, the crate that sat beneath the counter labelled _REMUS_ was very full and they had only spent half his money.

"You know what?" Julian said hoisting himself up onto the counter and grinning at Remus, "I think that's enough." He nudged the full crate with his boot, "that's all the decent records we sell."

Remus was very pleased, it was Friday evening and he would be returning to school on Monday. He still had thirty pounds to exchange for Galleons to use on Hogsmeade visits and Christmas presents, and he was the proud owner of two dozen albums, not to mention that he had made a friend in Julian. It had certainly been a productive fortnight. "Thanks so much," Remus said happily. "So when to do you head back to school?"

"Not for another week," Julian said, gazing at the large clock that hung on the wall above the till. "We're starting on the eighth. Will be great, last year and all that. The teachers will treat us like adults this year."

"What a luxury," Remus said, I'm only in fifth y- er, form this year, big exams at the end of the year though, that's a bit scary."

"True," Julian said, "We've exams too. Though I bet they expect a bit more from you at your posh school."

Remus shrugged non-committingly; he'd only given Julian a vague, "boarding school up north," when he'd asked why Remus was only around in the holidays.

"Do you know what you want to do when you finish?" Julian asked, swinging his feet and still looking at the clock. It was ten to six, ten minutes until closing and there were no customers about. "Fuck it," he said decisively, jumping down from the counter, "let's go, it's Friday night, everyone that buys records is out _listening_ to them at the moment."

Remus wasn't going to argue, and as Julian headed to the back room with the cash draw, he picked up his box of music and meandered to the shop entrance, waiting for Julian to join him. It was a two man job to get the rickety old doors of the shop closed; Julian used to ask the Chip Shop cashier from next door but Remus had been helping him do it for the last week. The music playing in the store switched off, and then the row of low hanging lights that ran down the middle of ceiling went out. Julian came hurrying through the dark shop, the unlit cigarette already in his mouth causing his face to contort as he tried to keep it in place while pulling on his jacket and patting pockets in a hunt for his keys at the same time.

"So?" he asked, as he wrenched free the bolt that held the door open during business hours.

Remus had caught hold of the top one on the other door – something that was much easier with his new improved height. "So what?" he asked, not understanding. He grunted with the effort of getting the doors to match up so Julian could turn the key, all his weight hanging from the handle.

Julian's shoulder was pressed firmly against the other door, and he said awkwardly around his fag, "When you finish school?" He gave the door a final jolt and the lock clicked. He grinned and lit his smoke in celebration while Remus picked up his records from the footpath.

"Oh right," Remus said, as they set off down the footpath. There were heavy looking purple clouds obscuring what had been a clear late summer sky; it seemed as though the weather knew the holidays were coming to an end. "Well, I don't really know yet," Remus said - it was true, there were many things Remus wanted to do when he finished school but whether or not society would let him was another story. "Still got a few years to decide. What about you?" he asked, feeling a little maudlin as he often did where the future was concerned.

"Dad's already got me a job with him," Julian said with obvious distaste. "Company lackey by the sounds of it." He paused as they passed the chippy, "what do you reckon?" he asked digging a handful of bronze and a few silvers from his jeans pocket, "chips for the walk home?"

Remus – in his state of constant hunger – nodded. "It _is_ Friday," he said and Julian flicked his half-smoked cigarette into the gutter and led the way inside.

The thick mix of dripping and fish hung in the air and they were greeted by the cheerful swarthy- skinned man stationed at the industrial deep fryer. "Julie!" He said, his accent not completely disguising what seemed to be a deliberate mispronunciation of Julian's name.

"Evenin' Piero," Julian said, with a slightly exasperated, but obviously fond shaking of his head, he put several coins on the high counter, "can I get a scoop?"

Within five minutes they headed back out the door, a newsprint wrapped bundle held securely against Julian's chest and the farewell of _"G'Night Julie!"_ accompanying the tinkle of the door ringer.

Julian tore the corner open and held the packet out as they walked along. Remus shifted his grip on the record box so he could take a handful. "Thanks _Julie_., he said impishly, and then hastily blew on the chips when the hot oil burned his fingers.

"Christ! Don't you bloody start," Julian said, but he was laughing. "I suppose though, if any one understands odd names it would be you, I mean, Remus is even more unusual than Julian."

Remus shrugged, mouth too full to talk, eventually he said, "Julian is pretty average by my standards, one of my best friends is called Sirius."

"Wow," Julian said in a low whistle, "his mother must really hate him." He held the greasy parcel out again.

"Yup," Remus said and helped himself to more. He didn't mention that the hatred was a mutual arrangement between mother and son.

Julian had his head tilted to the side and was holding the chips at a funny angle, "Did you see this?" he asked, turning the wrappings in Remus's direction. There was a large double picture of a motorway tunnel; on the left it looked normal, a white painted edge with bright oblong -shaped lights dotted high along each wall, but in the right-hand photo it was crumbling, black and obviously burnt. There were several cars in similar states of fire-gutted, ashy disrepair arranged haphazardly on the grass verge.

Remus shook his head, "No, were people hurt?" It seemed a foolish question considering the burnt-out vehicles, but it sprung from his lips before he could stop it.

Julian nodded as he chewed his chips solemnly. "Yeah, five dead, two were kids - and looks like the traffic officers still don't know what caused the explosion."

Remus thought he might know; the same thing that he heard his parents whispering about, the thing that was behind families of muggles or muggleborns dying from unknown causes, or vanishing altogether. It was Voldemort and his campaign of hatred. Shadowy rumours had been floating around Hogwarts for at least the last twelve months that Remus was aware of. Students that supported him, students that didn't, and the most worrying of all in Remus's opinion, students that vehemently insisted that none of it was true.

But true or not, none of it was Julian's problem. Unless Voldemort developed a taste for cider Remus didn't think Shepton Mallet was even a blip on the Death Eaters' radar. "How awful," he said, and they walked in silence for a while, turning off the high street to continue down the lane that led in the direction of both their houses. Remus's was closer, Julian lived another quarter of an hour walk away from the village centre. "So why are you going to work with your dad if you don't want to?" Remus asked at length, "Can't you just carry on there?" he gestured with his thumb back towards town.

Julian scrunched up the now empty chip paper and lobbed it at a council bin as they approached the corner, but the wind caught it and it missed; he grimaced and said, "I think Dad was hoping I'd do more than a shopkeeper, but the real thing is, Dad's boss did him a favour a few years ago, so when the company began to expand, the boss suggested me and my brother apply, and Dad didn't really feel like he could argue."

"Oh that's a shame," Remus said, picking up the ball of newspaper and binning it as they passed. "Maybe it won't be all bad. What does the company do?"

Julian was trying to light a cigarette in the strengthening wind and didn't answer right away, when he finally succeeded he said, " Public relations stuff, dead boring, I'll probably wind up on a bloody street corner with a clipboard asking for donations."

"Donations for what?" Remus asked.

"Buggered if I care," he said, and then shrugged. "Still, not all bad, will be London based and my brother already works there, so I can stay with him_. London,_ Remus," he said, a blissful smile stretched across his face. "Think of the music."

"You have to do a job you'll hate because your dad owes someone a favour and you say think of the music?" Remus laughed, "I don't think you think of anything _but_ the music."

"You may have a point there," Julian said

* * *

Remus felt a little odd as he packed his trunk that evening. The summer had definitely come to a very sudden end, starting with the weather; the rain was pelting against his bedroom window very loudly. Remus looked back at his desk where his Hogwarts letter sat, and next to it a little red and gold badge which was the source of the uneasy feeling inside him. It caught the light coming from the lamp on his bedside table and glinted menacingly. Not that the little piece of enamelled metal was an actual menace, but it was what it represented, what it should mean to him to be given responsibility. _A werewolf prefect -_ who ever heard of such a thing?

The more he thought about it, the more he didn't want to have to stick the pin on his robes every morning. It wasn't the teasing from his friends that he was worried about - and there would be plenty of that, when he finally got up the courage to tell them - but that he didn't want to be more of a wet blanket than he already was. He tried not to be, but Remus's internal voice of reason seemed to be much more forceful than James's or Sirius's. Peter's internal voice might be screaming and shaking its fists but unfortunately the smaller boy didn't always have the courage to articulate his worries. So, for instance, when James wanted to spice up their astronomy lesson with some stars of their own – or more like Dr Filibuster's magical no-heat wet-starts – it was left to Remus to say that perhaps it would be wiser to let the fireworks off when there were more than their fifteen classmates present and therefore more suspects and less chance of detention. He hadn't expected James to interpret "more suspects" as in the middle of the Great Hall, during the Halloween feast. Sometimes he wondered why they were friends with him at all. But it wasn't like he could go to Dumbledore and say _'Thank you so much for allowing me to get an education and have a proper life, but I don't want this extra honour you have given me, I'm too scared to do the job properly because my friends are more important to me than you risking your reputation and the safety of all the people of Hogwarts just so I can learn_.' It was quite the quandary.

Trying to distract himself from the conflicting ideas in his head he thought of Julian. He reasoned that Julian having a guaranteed job to go to after finishing school, even one that he might not be keen on, was a better prospect than most of the boys in town. They'd likely get a job at the mill or one of the other factories in the district and stay there for the rest of their lives. Julian was obviously pleased to get to live in London, and his brother already worked with his dad so Remus thought it couldn't be too terrible. Maybe Remus should follow in his father's footsteps too; Somerset's orchards couldn't keep themselves free of Scab and Black Spot without Mr Lupin's magic touch after all. And as being friends with Julian had shown him, muggles didn't jump to conclusions if you were away sick from work on the full moon. It might be bloody depressing to think of leaving the magical world behind but it would certainly be an easier life in many ways.

* * *

A/N: Back to Hogwarts next chapter! Hope you enjoyed this last bit of summer (in Fic and real life!) - Happy Halloween!


	5. Chapter 5

"Master must wake up if he wishes to leave in time for the train," Kreacher's voice croaked into Sirius's ear on the morning of the first of September. Sirius let out a sleep jumbled curse and shuffled across his bed in fright - the house elf's voice was a very unsettling sound in the darkness of his bedroom while he was still befuddled by sleep.

"Master will not go back to sleep!" Kreacher said firmly. Sirius had pulled the bedspread up high around his head in defence of attack by creeping house-elves, and Kreacher tugged at it fruitlessly. "Mistress says _'Kreacher fetch Master Sirius and Master Regulus,'_ Master Regulus is awake already – " He yanked harder on the bedding, but Sirius was still holding on tight.

His sleep muddled brain began catching up with the situation - _why did he want to stay in bed? _The sooner he was up, the sooner they would be on their way to Kings Cross and he would be free of Grimmauld Place for another four months. He sat up with sudden enthusiasm, letting go of the bedspread as he did so; there was a muffled thud as Kreacher toppled backwards when his continued tugging met no resistance and then Sirius heard – much to his amusement – Kreacher's grumbling as he fought his way out of the tangled bed clothes.

Kreacher narrowed his bulbous watery eyes at Sirius who was sitting on the edge of his bed yawning and trying to restrain a chortle at the disgruntled expression on the elf's face. "Master always likes his jokes," he muttered mutinously as he crossed the room to pull back the heavy drapes, rubbing at his left buttock as he went.

Sirius went over to retrieve a uniform from his trunk, which held the necessary school clothes but was more importantly packed full of the brilliant muggle things he'd picked up in Edinburgh. These had stayed safely hidden over the week since he and Regulus had returned home. Kreacher would surely rat him out if the elf discovered that Sirius now owned a harmonica – which he would teach himself how to play and be brilliant at in no time – several new records, and a collection of magazines. Sirius felt that he had struck it very lucky; having only five pound in muggle money he had searched the muggle shops of Edinburgh for something appropriately interesting to spend it on. In a corner junkshop not far from Lonsdale he had found it, a crate full of incongruent but awesome miscellany. The harmonica was definitely the prize, but as well as the records and magazines there was a snow globe of a medieval church, and a stack of books that were so tattered Sirius could barely read the covers. He had been surprised that on closer inspection they had turned out to be some of the filthiest books he'd ever read, filled with women who all seemed to have heaving bosoms. Sirius didn't really understand why they needed to be heaving. Bosoms were fine when adequately supplied with oxygen in his opinion. But the op-shops books had helped pass the week once he returned home; dubious and repetitive plotlines aside, Sirius didn't know if he'd ever seen anything as funny as Regulus's bright red face when Sirius had decided to read some of the steamier sections aloud.

Despite the fact that this had been one of the most pleasant summers at home he'd spent so far, Sirius was eager to leave for school. 'Pleasant' was relative, after all. Inevitably, Sirius had deviated from his manifesto of not riling up his mother - he was only human after all . The final straw had been her smiling at him during dinner on their second night back - an actual smile, one of the ones reserved for situations involving injured muggleborns or Regulus's perfectness. Such obvious approval was enough to frighten from his recent mask of silence. He had managed to keep it under control until halfway through the vegetable course, when his father had asked his opinion on the newest enchantment guarding the upper floors of the house. Sirius – unable to sufficiently distract himself with asparagus – blurted out that he didn't see the point in having to recite the Black family tree in Latin to gain access to the stairs. The bloody thing was plastered across the drawing room wall and anyone with half a brain would be able to copy it down. And as for proclaiming in Latin, "Well," Sirius had said, "Muggles can learn Latin too, Father."

His grandfather Pollux had somehow managed to choke on his wine at this point and Sirius swore that Pollux had directed a wink at him through his red-faced wheezing. Walburga did not seem to find Sirius's remarks quite so entertaining, and the unusually cordial expression she had worn throughout the first part of dinner had morphed into a much more familiar scowl.

The arguments that erupted between Sirius and his mother during the last week had been over pointless things like his unbrushed hair or his jinxing a pair of shoes to follow Regulus around. The ghostly wing-tips made eerie footfalls in the shadowy house, to the point that his little brother had a twitch and a crick in his neck from looking over his shoulder for his stalking spectre. This little joke had earned Sirius's owl Zoff an accommodation in the attic until September, which was hardly bad at all, only a few days, really. All these arguments were actually quite tame in comparison to the usual; his mother was only able to fault him for behaving like a fifteen year old boy and not for lacking pureblood pride, so they hadn't escalated to include threats of disownment or the lesser (in his mother's eyes) punishment of disembowelment.

As Sirius pulled on his uniform for the first time since June he could think of nothing except being free of this place again. The stint at Alphard's had been wonderful and definitely an improvement on his previous summer's holiday, but it had served to highlight how rubbish Grimmauld Place really was. Alphard had said that he would be too busy to see his nephews at Christmas which was a real disappointment, especially in the circumstances. Normally Sirius could convince his mother to let him stay at school for the holiday. However, in a horrible ironic twist he hadn't seen coming, his relatively good behaviour meant that his mother wanted him home, to 'help present the future of the house of Black' she said, this likely meant more dreary dinners and another parade of simpering pureblood females.

* * *

With his own eagerness to get out of the house and Regulus's dislike of being late, Sirius ended up being the first of his friends to arrive at platform nine and three quarters on that windy September morning. The second to arrive was Peter. He spied Sirius sitting on a bench though the crowd, and after discerning that Mrs Black was nowhere to be seen he plonked himself down next to Sirius and grinned. "Good summer I hear," Peter said, as he rubbed his hands vigorously through what was obviously a Mrs Pettigrew approved combing, returning his dark blond hair to its normal untidy state. "I couldn't believe you were still writing in August! That was a first."

"I know," Sirius said, grateful that he had already de-regulationed his own hair – though it would take several weeks of ignoring his comb before it achieved its pre-summer mess. "I was at Alphard's and he would never take Zoff away,"

Peter laughed, "Only 'cause he's too scared. I reckon that just proves how scary your mum is – your bird is the devil. She isn't afraid of it, so she must be the Queen devil."

Sirius snorted in agreement, "Queen devil, you got that right."

They were both still snickering when there was a bellow of "Black! Pettigrew!" that was shortly followed by a very excitable James Potter tearing out of the steam, his face lit with an almost maniacal grin. He reached the pair and punched Peter in the arm before he threw himself onto the bench between them and cuffed Sirius around the head. Sirius and Peter, both still wincing, exchanged a look and then dived on James in retaliation. The 'friendly' scuffle was halted only when there was a pointed coughing from above them followed by a well-placed school shoe to Sirius's shin.

"Sorry," Remus said, "thought you might have forgotten that we are supposed to be getting on the train, not having a three-some in front of everyone on the platform."

Sirius looked up from where he was indeed straddling James most suggestively, his friend's glasses held aloft to give Sirius the advantage; James was struggling to reach them with his left hand because his right was occupied keeping Peter in a headlock; poor Pete had somehow ended up on his knees next to the bench, his face mushed into James's side by the restraining strength of James's quaffle throwing arm.

"You're just jealous," Sirius said, but he dropped James's glasses onto his chest and clambered off him anyway. James released Peter who, red faced and a little bleary eyed from lack of oxygen, just flopped onto the ground looking up at Remus with a frown. Sirius looked back at Remus to see what was displeasing Peter – he should be grateful to be rescued by their werewolf friend. But then his eyes fell on the shiny little red and gold badge pinned to Remus's chest and he felt his own forehead contract. "Rem?" he said reaching out a hand to flick at the pin, as though it was all an illusion, but when his fingers collided with solid metal his frown deepened, "Ewww" he said, hastily retracting his hand and diving behind James who was only just hauling himself into a sitting position on the bench. "Potter," he stage whispered behind his hand, "Watch out! There's a prefect present."

James did not react the way Sirius expected him to; joining in with the teasing. Instead he looked up at Remus - whose expression was a strange a mix of embarrassment and pride - and said sternly, "I thought you must have got that; no scamming on my girl, Lupin."

Remus looked blankly from James to Sirius, to Peter who was still recovering his breath at his feet, "Your girl?"

"Evans!" James said, "She's the girl prefect, Meadowes told me at the Boneses thing. Apparently she had been asking if I'd got the boys badge," James grinned proudly and Sirius pushed him.

"Only so she would know whether or not to turn down the job," he put in. "That would be her worst bloody nightmare, stuck with you on patrol duty."

"She'll come around," James said with dignity. "At least you can help keep Snivelly away from her now, Rem."

"Er, right," Remus said. He seemed to be at a bit of a loss. "Shall we get on the train then?"

Sirius led the way through the crowds of parents and families farewelling students with hugs and smiles. He smirked at James and made a quick detour past Mr and Mrs Selwyn who were saying their final goodbyes to Cecilia the heir hunter, smiling politely when Mr Selwyn caught his eye; he nodded in Mrs Selwyn's direction as he accidentally sent his heavy trunk on a collision course with Mr Selwyn's knee cap. "Terribly sorry," Sirius called over his shoulder, as he pulled open the door to an empty compartment. James was still sniggering behind him as he threw himself into a seat.

James and Peter followed suit and Sirius immediately flung his trunk open and began to dig for the records Alphard had given him. But when he looked up Remus was still standing in the doorway to the compartment, "I, er … have to go to the front of the train, to um, receive instructions," he said, still looking ill at ease.

"Oh right," Sirius said, halting his search. "Well, I'll show you when you get back then," he said with a grin. There was something different about Remus today, but Sirius couldn't quite pick what it was. He was definitely not his normal self, maybe being prefect scared him. Sirius couldn't blame his friend for that, if he'd opened his Hogwarts letter to find the badge he would be feeling quite out of sorts too.

"Ok," Remus said as he lifted his trunk into the overhead rack, "I'm not sure how long I'll be, so get me something from the trolley if she comes before I get back."

"Will do," Sirius said

Remus turned to leave and James said, "Say hi to Evans for me Rem, and tell her I think she looks pretty today."

Sirius chuckled, "You haven't even seen her today."

James flapped a hand at him. "Irrelevant, she'll look pretty anyway."

Remus shook his head as he made his way out into to the corridor; Sirius was sure he heard him mutter '_Daft git'_ under his breath as he left.

"He's in a weird mood," Sirius said, but he got no response. James was foraging in his trunk for something and Peter, to Sirius's surprise, was frowning heavily at the door Remus had just left through. "What's up your nose Pete?" Sirius asked.

"Nothing," Peter said startled, and then quailing under the look Sirius gave him he said, "Didn't you notice? He's tall."

"Who's tall?" James asked distractedly, submerged up to his elbows in meticulously folded packing – a house elf job if Sirius ever saw one.

"Remus," Peter said.

"Is he?" Sirius asked.

"Yes," Peter insisted emphatically, "nearly as tall as you."

"Oh … well, I guess he grew," Sirius said, with a shrug, "What's the big deal?"

"Nothing," Peter said.

"Ah ha!" James cried, as he extracted a brown paper wrapped package from his trunk with difficulty. He plonked back down on the seat and tore into the paper. The contents released a billow of fragrant steam that set Sirius's mouth-watering, Peter's nose twitched as he sniffed the air too.

"Mrs Potter's scones?" Sirius asked hopefully.

James nodded and smiled broadly as he fished one from the box and chucked it across the compartment to Peter who caught it, a grin replaced his frown at once. After all, what did it matter if you were left as the only short one of your friends if you had one of Mrs Potter's scones to enjoy?

Sirius reached in and took one for himself; he was highly appreciative of the charm that kept the scones tasting like they were fresh from the oven.

"So you'll never guess what I found out at Alphard's," Sirius said in a pre-emptive strike, knowing that if he didn't fill the silence, a re-hash of James's Quidditch holiday surely would. "You know how he travels all the time?" James and Peter both nodded, "well, he's working for some anti- Voldemort group, he's been in Egypt looking for Death Eater recruiters."

James looked suitably impressed, "Wow, cool. Did he find anything?"

"He wouldn't tell me," Sirius said, "but after he said that I decided to do some snooping."

"Of course," James said nodding, "he can't just tell you something like that and then expect you not to go looking for more."

"Exactly" Sirius said, grinning at his best friend. James always had the soundest logic. "He went out to a dinner, and I decided it was the perfect time to have a look in his office."

"Weren't you there with Regulus?" Peter asked, "wouldn't he tell on you?"

Sirius shook his head, "Reg was upstairs reading, and there wasn't a lot to look at anyway, just maps and boring junk but then I found this list of names, like wanted posters but without the pictures. Just crimes and dates and stuff - all the names were foreign, too."

"Recruiting targets you reckon?" James asked

"No," Sirius said shaking his head thoughtfully, "I think they already work for him; most of them had crimes next to their name, lots committed in the European war." He stood up to rummage in his trunk, "Here," he said, "it's easier just to show you, I copied the scroll." He handed the parchment to James who read the first listed name.

_ Wlik Lucev_

_Master Potioneer, specialising in debilitation drafts. _

_Wanted for the incapacitation of 4 muggle families in Crete._

_L.C.S. 3/1/1947_

"LCS?" James asked, looking up and passing the sheet to Peter for inspection.

Sirius shrugged "I don't know, it wasn't like I could ask Alphard... Sorry Uncle but when you were out I just happened to stumble across some private documents in your locked filling cabinet, could you explain them to me please?"

"True," James laughed. "So there were heaps of these?" he mused, as he ran his eyes down the list again.

"Yeah, tonnes, " Sirius said, "what do you reckon?" James was the best bet for clarification; his father always brought work home from the Auror office and James had developed an unnatural affinity with snooping, as well as excellent fact retention.

"I don't know … maybe Death Eater suspects?" he said slowly, before he shook his head and muttered, "But Crete? That's weird - I've never heard anything about Voldemort having supporters that far away, Spain or France and possibly Germany, but…." He trailed off with a shrug.

"You should ask your dad," Sirius said, a little disappointed that James didn't have any more insight than he did.

"Yeah, but what would I say? _Sirius's uncle has information on lots of blokes who committed crimes thirty years ago?_ Seems a bit weird, I mean, how do you even know they are connected to Voldemort?"

"Because Alphard told me he was on the same side as Dumbledore - what else could they have to do with?" He smiled as he thought of the conversation with his uncle, and added, "Though he was a bit offended when I suggested he was working _for_ Dumbledore."

James grinned. "Yeah well that's not really surprising is it? Alphard might be less twisted than the rest of your lot, but working for Dumbledore would surely be out of the question."

"They're not _my_ lot," Sirius grumbled taking a second scone from the open tin next to James, "it's just an unfortunate coincidence that I happen to live in their house."

James rolled his eyes, "They can't have been that bad this summer; you were allowed to leave, for a start."

Sirius bit into his scone instead of replying. James really didn't understand what it was like.

"So Pete, what do you think?" James asked, when Sirius's silence in favour of eating continued.

"About the lists?" Peter shrugged. "They could be anything. Do you really think there are people working for You-Know-Who that far away?" He looked worriedly between the two of them.

"I dunno," Sirius said, "but Alphard thinks we might still be fighting him in a decade, so he must have some reason for thinking he's going to be that hard to stop."

"A decade?!" James and Peter said at the same time, Peter's eyes were wide and James said in a more serious voice than usual, "Dad told me they'd have it all sorted out before we left school, he was sure of it." He gave a little nod in punctuation and then added, "I asked him what he thought about us joining the Aurors."

"What did he say?"

"That there would be no point because his team are so brilliant that there won't be any dark wizards left for us to catch."

Sirius laughed at this, Mr Potter was strangely optimistic for a man who had spent the last fifty years fighting dark magic. He seemed to being delaying his retirement until Voldemort was dealt with, but somehow Sirius couldn't see James's dad working for another ten years. The man didn't need to work, the Potters were as obscenely wealthy as the Blacks, so Sirius was constantly surprised that the elderly fellow still got up and went to the Ministry every day. But then, his son often showed what was politely referred to by their professors as 'extreme determination' - Sirius just called it stubbornness - and James must have learnt that from somewhere.

* * *

The lunch trolley had long since rattled passed their compartment by the time Remus returned in the early afternoon. The only evidence remaining of its visit was the pile of colourful scrunched wrappings on the seat between James and Sirius, and the small mountain of suspicious-coloured Every Flavour Beans that sat on the lid of Mrs Potter's scone tin. These were saved for Remus, who for some reason liked to live dangerously when it came to sweets. Remus arrived back at their compartment just as the weather outside turned decidedly more northern – the first splattering of rain against the window and a whistling of chill wind accompanied his hurried entrance.

Remus hurled the door shut behind him and fell into the seat next to Peter. "You lot owe me," he said snatching at the Every Flavour Beans and selecting a vile looking muddy brown one. He looked worn out and harried as he said, "Lily is out to get you," he frowned across at Sirius and James, "like, _really _out to get you. She was asking me all sorts of stuff," he paused to sniff at the brown bean before popping it in his mouth and continuing, "she wanted to know what _horrible_ jokes you were planning to play on people this year and how you kept getting stuff from Hogsmeade even though you were banned last term." He frowned, chewing thoughtfully, "Why was this in my pile? Its just chocolate orange." He looked slightly disappointed as he swallowed and said, "But honestly, you're going to have to watch it with Lily, she means business, even had list of questions for me!"

Sirius shared a look with James. Lily was one of the cleverer girls in their year and had a rather strong dislike of James, and by extension Sirius, and if she had decided to focus on catching them out, they might actually find themselves caught. James didn't seem nearly concerned enough in Sirius's opinion, but was looking intently at Remus, "Evans was asking about me?" he said, just as Sirius asked, "What did you tell her?"

Remus gave James a disbelieving look and then focused on Sirius, "That you both have more gold than you know what to do with so you were bribing people going into Hogsmeade to bring stuff back for you."

Sirius nodded. "Good, we don't want anyone to suspect about the passage. What about any misdeeds we might have planned?"

Remus just shook his head as he sifted through the multi-coloured beans, he decided on a black one. "Since when have you planned anything? I told her that your collective trouble-making genius was entirely spontaneous." He grinned as he chewed, "I didn't feel the need to mention that if anything needed to be planned it's me that normally does it." He shuddered. "Argh, marmite!"

James and Peter both laughed. "Everyone knows that boys who wear cardigans don't break the rules," James said in mock seriousness, eyeing Remus's grey knitted cardi significantly.

"Indeed, tis my woolly disguise," Remus said, plucking at his collar and matching James's serious tone before he began to laugh again.

"You know, it could be quite useful having a spy in the ranks of authority," Sirius said pensively as he opened his trunk and pulled out the records Alphard had given him. He'd saved them until now, because Remus was the only one who actually appreciated them.

"I don't really think that's what Dumbledore had in mind when he made me prefect," Remus said, sounding suddenly pessimistic, but his uneasy expression lifted when Sirius passed him the albums. His lips hitched up in an almost-smirk as he said, "Wait til you see mine, just about couldn't fit them all in my trunk."

The rest of the journey passed enjoyably. James was very enthusiastic about Lily Evans's interest in his behaviour, saying proudly that any attention is good attention. Remus seemed cheerful enough with his mountain of beans to munch on and the huge number of records he'd bought over the summer to boast about. Peter was grinning from ear to ear, first at Remus's unwise hasty swallowing of a laundry detergent flavoured bean that had him spluttering for ten solid minutes, then at James's attempt to demonstrate the Grodzisk Goblins chasers rotating attack formation. James used Sirius and Remus to complete the chaser trio with little success, and nearly broke his shinbone when he dove from the luggage rack and collided with the bench seat opposite. Sirius himself was feeling deliriously happy to be back where he belonged, surrounded by his friends and not having to worry about anything – except when to duck because James had climbed back onto the luggage rack and directed Sirius and Remus back into position for a second try at the demonstration for Peter.


End file.
